


Into Distance Unknown

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John does the stupid thing, M/M, Mates, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Scents & Smells, Slow Burn, Top Dean Winchester, Werewolves, Wincest - Freeform, bitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: 'Sam’s heart lurched in his chest, and he felt rage creeping up his ribs, replacing the shock and disbelief. He tried to fight it down but it was choking him, suffocating him. His father had used Dean as bait for a werewolf.'Dean gets bitten after John does the stupid thing.Fuck John Winchester, Sam isn't going to let anyone put a bullet in his brother.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from a Bright Eyes lyric]

It was a Friday night, last night of July’s full moon, and Sam Winchester was lying on a creaky, old, full-sized bed. They were currently renting an old two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Fryeburg, Maine.

They had been here for a little over a week. John Winchester was on the trail of something that had killed hiking tourists during cycles of the last three full moons.

John and Dean were out on the hunt now, trying to track and kill what they suspected was a werewolf. Sam, of course, had been instructed to stay home and stay inside. He had protested, declaring that he could watch Dean’s back, at the very least. He was fifteen, he had already his share of hunts under his belt. His father had vetoed his protests, and now here he was, alone and waiting.

He had a book open in front of him and was immersed in the world of hobbits and wizards and evil, when he heard the engine of his father’s 1967 Impala. He raised his head at the sound, eyes flicking to the old clock sitting on the old nightstand next to him. 11:38 pm. His brow furrowed a bit – maybe they had found the creature more quickly than anticipated.

Sam sat up in the bed, heart skipping a beat, as he heard his father’s voice shouting from outside the house,

“Sam!”

There was a frantic note in the shout which drove Sam to his feet and had him running through the old house. He reached the front door and jerked it open, and his heart lurched in his chest again.

John was half-carrying his 19-year-old brother toward the house, arm wrapped around his waist to support him. Dean’s head was bowed and, even from the front door, Sam could see the blood covering the young man’s shoulder, arm and torso. It looked almost black in the full moon’s light, and sent an unwelcome shiver through him.

Sam ran down the steps even before his father called,

“Help me get him inside, Sam!”

He reached the duo and started to reach for Dean but hesitated, afraid of hurting the other. Dean raised his head then – Sam swallowed hard at the pain etched on his brother’s pale features – and assured softly, “S’okay, Sammy.”

Sam nodded and, as gently as he could, slipped his brother’s arm around his shoulders to help his father carry him inside.

Once Dean was inside and on the couch, John went for a first-aid kit. Sam knelt next to the couch and studied his brother for a moment. Dean’s head was resting against the back of the old sofa, eyes closed and breathing slightly uneven with pain. His left arm was resting in his lap. Sam’s eyes fell on the torn shirt, and he swallowed as he saw the wound revealed by the tear. Two large and several smaller wounds gouged in the man’s flesh – teeth marks. His eyes fell on the gouge marks - claws, he guessed - showing through tears in the side on Dean’s right side.

He pulled a pocket knife, small but sharp, from his pants pocket and flicked it open. Seconds later, he was carefully cutting away his brother’s t-shirt. He glanced at Dean as the young man muttered, eyes still closed, “You’re ruining my favorite shirt, bitch.”

“It’s ruined already, jerk,” he countered, voice far more calm than he actually felt, as he gently pulled away the material from the bleeding wound, “You were bitten?”

His voice came out a bit higher than he would have liked, and Dean opened his eyes to look at him.

Before Dean could answer, John returned to the room, first-aid kit in hand. The man reached them, nodded in approval as he saw that Sam was removing the bloodied t-shirt. Sam shifted to the side, out of the way but still within reach of his brother.

“What happened?”

John didn’t answer as he began to clean Dean’s wounds, and a stab of anger shot through him. His voice was hard, traces of his anger seeping through, as he repeated,

“Dad, what happened?”

“Werewolf bite,” John answered gruffly. Sam’s fist clenched as his father pressed down on the offending wound, causing Dean to flinch. His eyes flicked from Dean’s face – his brother tried to shoot him a smile but it was more of a pained grimace – to his father’s as John continued,

“Shot the thing before it could do more damage and doused the bite with holy water.”

Sam’s eyes flicked back to Dean as his brother muttered, “Told you using me as bait was a bad idea.”

“What?” his gaze shifted to his father, then back to Dean, “You used Dean as bait?”

“It was a sound plan,” John muttered, tearing open a gauze pad and pouring what Sam knew to be holy water over it, “Had a rock cliff at our backs to avoid sneak attacks. Damn thing was more clever than I calculated.” His brother flinched again as John pressed the pad against the wound and began to tape it in place. When that was done, he began to clean the gouge marks on Dean’s side.

Sam’s heart lurched in his chest, and he felt rage creeping up his ribs, replacing the shock and disbelief. He tried to fight it down but it was choking him, suffocating him. His father had used Dean as _bait_ for a _werewolf_.

“You used Dean as bait?” the rage was lacing his voice now, clenched in his shaking fists and spiraling throughout his shaking frame, “For a fucking werewolf?! What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck did you think would happen?!”

“That’s enough," angry warning laced their father's voice, even as guilt flickered across the man's features, but he ignored it, because fuck him. _Fuck him_.

“You – “ he struggled with himself, trying to fight down his mounting emotions, “You used my brother as _bait_ , you asshole!” 

John stood, towering still over him, but Sam stood his ground. He didn’t back down as his father warned, “That’s enough out of you, Samuel!”

“Did you even kill the fucking werewolf?”

John’s left jaw twitched at the question, brows drawing together, and Sam had his answer.

“Holy shit,” he ran a hand through his shaggy hair as he moved away from the man who called himself their father but had used his own son as bait for a monster tonight, “You used Dean as bait and you didn’t even kill it?”

“I shot it,” the man countered, arms crossing across his chest in a manner which screamed defensive, “I had other things to worry about.”

“Other _things_.” There was that rage again, threatening to choke him, threatening to send him at his father with fists that probably wouldn’t do much damage but which were itching to try. “You’re crazy. You’re out of your fucking –“

He bit off his words as Dean’s voice, soft and pained, carried to him,

“Sam.”

Sam glanced at his brother, saw the pain and weariness etching Dean’s features.

“I’m tired,” his older brother continued, struggling to sit forward. Sam was at his side in a heartbeat, tsk-ing him for the movements and helping him to his feet, “Can you help me to bed?”

He knew his brother was trying to run interference between him and John, even now. Still, he would do anything to erase that pain from Dean’s features, so he simply nodded and slipped Dean’s good arm around his shoulders, allowing the other to lean on him for support.

Both boys looked at John as the man suggested, “Get some rest, Dean. In the morning, we need to talk.”

That urge to hit him rose up in Sam again, and he scowled at the man.

Dean only nodded grimly – they all knew what that conversation would be about – and allowed Sam to guide him to their shared bedroom.

 

Sam had his brother in clean pajama pants, blood cleaned from him with a warm, wet washcloth, a short while later. He helped the young man into bed and beneath the blankets, with several pillows beneath his head and shoulders in an attempt to help him rest easier.

“You in a lot of pain?” he fussed with the blankets, making sure Dean was covered, before sitting on the bed’s edge.

“Not like I was,” Dean murmured, “Those pain pills helped, or maybe werewolf bites don’t hurt long. Hell if I know which.” Green eyes met his own, and his older brother continued, “Sam, you know what might happen –“

“It won’t,” Sam shook his head, went back to fidgeting with the blankets. He wouldn’t cry, he was stronger than that, Winchesters didn’t cry. Right? So why were his eyes flooding with tears? “You’re going to be fine, Dean. You’re not -– it won’t. You’ll be fine.”

“Sammy,” the soft-spoken nickname sent a tear sliding down his face, “It’ll be okay, Sammy.” His brother opened his good arm, and Sam moved carefully over him to lie against his right side. Dean wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, and he whispered,

“Gonna be okay, Dean. You have to be okay. I won’t let you leave me.”

“Sammy,” Dean sighed. Sam raised his gaze to Dean’s face and saw that his brother’s eyes were shimmering, lashes wet. “I’ll do my best but I can’t make that promise.”

“You can,” he clenched his fist where it rested against Dean’s bare sternum; “You make it, Dean. You promise me that you won’t leave me.” He knew it wasn’t fair, that demand. They were both well-aware of what could happen with a werewolf bite, what the consequences could be. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing the one person in the world who was everything to him.

“My Sammy,” Dean murmured against his hair, dropping a kiss on his head, “Anything for you, little brother.”

He nodded, slipped an arm over his brother’s waist to hug him close, and listened to the steady, comforting sound of Dean breathing.

When they woke the next morning, sun piercing through the faded curtains and finally driving sleep away, Dean’s wounds were healed.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 2]

Sam had peeled back the bandages carefully to clean Dean’s wounds, but they were gone. Instead, there was smooth skin, dotted with freckles, and two tiny, round scars were the wolf’s fangs had gouged deepest.

He stared at his brother’s shoulder for a moment; he ran a finger across the smooth skin, and then raised his eyes to Dean. His older brother was staring at the place where the wound should have been, features pensive. They locked gazes and Dean shot him a tight smile.

“Well,” the other pulled the bandages from his skin and tossed them in the trash can beside the bed, and shoved himself to the bed’s edge, “at least we don’t have to worry about infection.” He paused the moment the word left his lips, shot Sam an apologetic look, “You know what I meant.”

Sam nodded, heart thudding against his ribs in a way that was almost painful. He swallowed down the fear trying to claw its way up his throat, fear for his brother and what would happen during the next full moon. “Maybe werewolf bites always heal like this. I mean, we don’t really know what happens to someone who is bitten but not infected. Surely there are people out there who’ve had that happen, right? You’ve only dealt with people who’ve already turned. Maybe they always heal up, even if - even if you’re not infected.”

“Maybe,” Dean seemed to muse over it for a moment, “You’re right that we don’t know, and there isn’t any information about it in any of dad’s journals. So I dunno, Sammy. Maybe.”

Sam nodded, a heavy sigh escaping him, and muttered,

“C’mon, I’ll fix breakfast.”

 

John had breakfast prepared and on the kitchen table when the brothers finished dressing and entered the kitchen a short while later. Sam sat down first, kicking the chair next to him. Dean took the hint and seated himself beside the younger Winchester, tousling his shaggy hair as he did. Sam made a face and tried to pull away, drawing a low chuckle from Dean.

John took a seat across the table from them, ignoring Sam’s glare as he served himself some of the food he had prepared. The meal was a silent one, which wasn’t unusual, but it was uneasy. There was a tension in the air, it seemed to Sam; some thick thing threatening to suffocate him and killing most of his appetite. He picked at his food but left most of it on his plate.

When breakfast was finished and John had prepared another pot of coffee, he returned to the table and seated himself again.

“We need to discuss what might happen during the next full moon.”

Sam wanted to cover his ears and block out the words, but instead clenched his fists in his lap. It was Dean who spoke quietly,

“We all know what might happen. I think the real discussion is what happens if I’m infected and I change.”

John ran a hand through his hair, shook his head. “Dean – “ He seemed to choke on the word, for he fell silent, head dropping in his hands to cover his face.

“No,” Sam shook his head, “Just forget it. Even if – no. We’ll find a way to fix it.”

“Sam,” John started, raising his head to look at him, “There isn’t –“

“You’re not killing my brother!” The words were a shout, echoing in the small space that was the kitchen. Sam shoved his chair back to stand, knocking it over in his anger, and pointed a finger at John, “You did this! You find a way to fix it!”

He half-turned, eyes falling on Dean, as his brother reached out a hand and caught his wrist. There was sympathy in his brother’s eyes, sadness and understanding, and it was going to break him right in half. He was going to shatter into tiny pieces, right here in this worn kitchen, on this worn linoleum, in this worn house, in some small town in Maine. Sam shook his head and, pulling his arm free of Dean’s gentle grip, fled the kitchen, and then the house itself.

He was sitting on an old log, staring out into the surrounding woods, when Dean found him a bit later. His brother sat next to him without saying anything, his own eyes on the trees around them. They sat in comfortable silence like that for a while, listening to birds singing and branches rustling in the breeze and their own breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Sam finally spoke, fingers busy toying with a flower he had plucked from the ground minutes before, “I mean I’m not, not for yelling at dad. I don’t want to – to make this harder for you, though. I don’t want to – “ He paused, trying to find the words, and Dean nodded his head.

“I know, Sammy.”

“There’s gotta be a cure,” Sam began to pull the petals off the flower, watching as they fell to the ground, “There’s gotta be something we can do.”

“Haven’t heard of anything,” Dean admitted, glancing at him, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t look.”

Sam nodded – a goal would keep him focused, help him to not freak completely out. He sighed and leaned into Dean’s side as his brother dropped an arm across his shoulders and pulled him close.

While they tended to avoid hugs more often than not, these were special circumstances, he supposed. Not that he minded more hugs from his brother. Secretly, he loved them. Not hugs in general, though those were alright, too. Hugs from Dean. He felt safe in his brother’s arms, like Dean was wrapped around him, a shield from everything outside of the two of them. Like the world and all its horrors – both monster and human – couldn’t touch him.

Sam didn’t voice these thoughts aloud, of course. He simply leaned into his brother’s embrace and wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, and prayed to whoever above was listening that they could find some remedy for a werewolf’s bite.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 3]

Sam woke to the sound of his father’s boots thudding on the house’s hardwood flooring. It was barely dawn outside the window, the sun not yet above the horizon. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes before glancing at Dean, whom was lying beside him. A fond smile touched Sam’s lips as he studied his brother; Dean was peaceful in sleep, as if the concerns of werewolves or anything else couldn’t touch him.

Sam slipped quietly from the bed, trying not to wake his brother. He stretched, popping his back, and snatched up a t-shirt from a dresser drawer. He pulled it on and slipped quietly from the bedroom.

John was standing at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, when Sam entered the kitchen. The teen’s eyes shifted to the duffel and weapons bags sitting on the kitchen table, and he asked, 

“Going some place?”

“I’m going to see what I can find out about werewolf cures,” John answered, setting his coffee cup on the counter. He crossed to the table as he continued, “I know a man in New Orleans who might have some information. He doesn’t have a phone that I’m aware of, though, so I’m going to drive down to talk to him.”

Sam nodded in understanding, watching as his father unzipped the weapons bag.

“Listen, Sam,” John paused, raising blue eyes to him, “What happened with Dean – It shouldn’t have happened. I made a mistake, a huge one. You’re right, I need to fix it if I can. I just – I never intended for Dean to come to harm. You know that, right?”

Sam was motionless for a brief second before nodding, “I know. It was a stupid idea, but, yeah, I know you didn’t want him hurt.”

John pulled something from the bag in front of him and laid it on the table: one of his handguns. He rifled through the bag again and, after a moment, pulled out a small wooden box. He placed it on the table next to the gun before zipping the bag closed.

Sam stared at the box – he recognized it immediately – before raising his gaze to John.

“You need to keep this –“ the man started.

“No,” Sam shook his head, “I won’t use that on him, dad.”

“Sam,” John drew a breath, exhaled it slowly, “I don’t think it will come to that. But just in case, you need to keep these. If something happens and I don’t make it back, or some kind of change comes on early..” He trailed off, both knowing what his next words would be if he finished.

Sam swallowed at the implications but nodded. John pushed the gun and the box of silver bullets, made by his own hands, across the table. “Keep them in a safe place. Just in case.”

The teen watched his father shoulder the duffel bag. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” John picked up the weapons bag, “It might take a couple of weeks but I’ll be back before the full moon.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up from our end,” Sam followed him toward the front door, “Maybe there’s something new on the internet.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” John agreed, “I bought that old truck from that old man a couple miles down the road last night. He was selling it cheap. I’m leaving the Impala for you and Dean.”

They exited the house – Sam saw an old black pickup sitting in the dirt driveway - and John halted on the front porch.

“You boys be careful,” he instructed, “Lay down the salt lines –“

“Stay together. Don’t explore dark, creepy caves,” Sam finished, “We know the drill.”

“Good.” John’s gaze flicked toward the house for a moment, then shifted back to Sam.

“I’ll take care of him,” the teen assured softly. John seemed satisfied, for he nodded and turned for the truck.

“See you as soon as I can. Stay safe.”

 

When John had pulled out of the drive and disappeared around a bend in the road, Sam turned and went back into the house. He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, pausing as he spotted Dean. The man was standing at the kitchen table, eyes on the gun and the wooden bullet box their father had placed there. He raised green eyes to Sam, who started,

”I’ll throw them in the lake down the road. I’m not going –“

“No,” Dean shook his head, “Dad’s right. Keep ‘em.” His eyes dropped to the bullet box again, which contained six silver bullets, “Put them someplace close. Just in case.”

Sam crossed to the table and picked up the gun and bullet box. “Not going to shoot you, Dean,” he muttered as he crossed the kitchen. He opened one of the cabinets and placed the items inside.

“Funny,” Dean joked from behind him, “You’re always threatening to do just that.”

Sam smirked over his shoulder at his brother, “You’re hilarious, Dean. Ha ha. Dad left the Impala for you to drive.”

“Seriously? Awesome!” Glee touched Dean’s features, causing Sam to roll his eyes in fond exasperation. His brother was obsessed with that car.

“It’s too early to watch you wank over the Impala. I’m going back to bed.”

He rolled his eyes again as Dean called after him,

“You know you want to watch me wank over the Impala, Sam.”

A small frown touched his lips as the urge to respond ‘hell yes’ struck him. He shook his head as he pushed open the bedroom door, intent on going back to bed and sleeping for a bit longer. Where had _that_ come from?

Sam shed his t-shirt and crawled onto the bed. It wasn’t often they had the chance to sleep in – their dad usually had them up early for training or traveling – so he wanted to enjoy it while he could. Couple extra hours of sleep, and then he would start researching werewolves. He stretched out and pulled a sheet up over his shoulders, shifting onto his side and making himself more comfortable. Sam sighed and closed his eyes.

He had just dozed off when he felt the bed shift beside him. He opened his eyes and started to rise up; the teen relaxed as Dean murmured, “Just me. Go back to sleep.” He nodded and lay back down, eyes slipping shut again. A small smile touched his lips as Dean pressed close, his chest against Sam’s back, and slipped an arm over Sam’s waist.

“This okay?”

He nodded, falling fast toward sleep; he barely heard Dean’s murmur of “You’re warm. Like a heating pad.” His brother pressed closer, and Sam was happy to scoot back against him, snuggling beneath the blanket and Dean’s arm.

 

The old alarm clock on the nightstand read 9:48 a.m. when Sam opened his eyes again. He stared at it for a moment, watching the second hand tick its course. He shifted, trying to avoid waking his brother while rolling onto his back. Dean was practically wrapped around him, one arm slung across his waist and a leg tangled with his own. His change in position caused Dean to stir; the man frowned in his sleep for a second before shifting to press his face against Sam’s neck. Hot breath against his throat caused him to shiver, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, trying to recall everything he knew about werewolves.

The teen glanced at Dean as his brother stirred again; Dean’s eyes were open, green gaze focused on him.

“How are you feeling?”

“You going to ask me that every day until the next full moon?” Dean’s voice was husky from sleep, head still resting on his shoulder and breath warm against Sam’s neck as he spoke.

“Probably,” he admitted, shooting his brother a sheepish smile.

“’m fine,” his brother assured, “Feeling pretty good, actually. Why don’t we sleep in more often?”

“Because dad thinks it’s a sacrilege to a hunter’s upbringing or some shit,” he reminded, rolling his eyes. “You gonna let me up?”

“Mm-mm,” the other declined, tightening his arm around Sam to make his point, “You’re a comfy pillow.”

“Yeah, well, I have to take a leak, so move it.”

Sam smirked, amused, as Dean groaned “Fine,” and rolled away from him, untangling their legs. “You can fix us breakfast while I’m in the shower, since you’re feeling so great.” With that, he pushed himself up and out of the bed to head for the bathroom. He chuckled as he heard Dean groan again,

“You’re cruel, Sam. Cruel.”

 

Breakfast was waiting for him when he entered the kitchen twenty-five minutes later, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and hair damp from his shower. He joined Dean, whom was glancing through a local newspaper, at the table.

“I’m going to ride into town after breakfast,” the man informed him, eyes shifting up from the paper to his face, “if you want to ride along.”

“Okay,” he forked a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth, “I’d like to check the library here, see if there’s a section on the supernatural.”

His brother shot him another glance, but nodded.

When breakfast was finished and they were in the Impala, Sam with his laptop tucked safely in his messenger bag, Dean paused before starting the car.

“Sam.” The older Winchester hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up that we’ll find a cure for lycanthropy.”

He started to protest, but remained silent as Dean shook his head.

“I just – We’ll try, okay? We have to consider the possibility, though, that there isn’t anything to cure it. We both know what can happen if – if I am infected. If I am..” Dean stared at the Impala’s steering wheel for a moment, brows furrowed, “We both know that, if I change, I’ll kill people.” Troubled green eyes met Sam’s, “Hell, Sam, I could kill you. I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t.”

Sam swallowed hard, heart slamming against his ribs as panic threatened to rise. “Dean, I can’t –“ He shook his head, features anguished.

“Sam,” his brother reached over, dropped a hand on his arm, “Sammy. You might not have a choice.”

Sam bit his bottom lip, eyes on the dashboard and knee bouncing in agitation. He met Dean’s gaze again as his brother lightly squeezed his arm and told him,

“We’ll look, okay? But if we can’t find anything, if it comes down to it, I want you to do what you have to do to keep people safe. To keep you safe.”

He knew Dean was right, no matter how it broke his heart. He wasn’t certain he could, or would, do it, but it didn’t mean Dean wasn’t right. He nodded and whispered, “Okay, Dean.”

As his brother started the car, he added determinedly, “I’m not giving up, though. We’ll find a way.”

 

He was sitting in the local library a short while later, with his laptop open in front of him and all the books he could find about werewolves and magic and witchcraft scattered around him. He was searching through some bookmarked sites, but kept getting distracted.

Dean was seated at a table across the library, talking to a girl around his age who volunteered there. She kept giggling at whatever Dean was saying, and the sound carried across the nearly empty space. He wasn’t certain why, but it was grating on Sam’s nerves.

Sam sighed and pulled his earbuds from his messenger bag. He plugged them into the laptop and opened his music program, clicking play on the first song that popped up on his playlist.

He was immersed in an article about werewolves a short while later; most information he had found so far was frustratingly inaccurate, or related to video games. The article he was currently reading had some interesting theories, though nothing that was concrete, as of yet. His attention was on what he was reading, and he had his music playing, so he wasn’t expecting the hand which dropped on his shoulder. He started and raised his eyes, to find one of the library staff, the man who had helped him find some of the books on the table, standing behind him.

Sam pulled out his earbuds as the he saw the man’s lips moving. “Sorry,” he shot the other a smile, “Had my music on.”

“Not a problem,” the man, whose name tag read ‘Cody’, smiled down at him, “I asked if you were finding what you were looking for.” He peered over Sam’s shoulder at the article on the laptop screen – Sam had the urge to hide the screen from him – and glanced back at him.

“Werewolves, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed a bit, reaching out and closing the laptop, “It’s for – “ He thought quickly, “- okay, so this will sound dorky, but me and my friends do some online role-playing games, kinda like Dungeons and Dragons, and I was looking for new monsters to throw at them.”

“Really?” the man – Cody – grinned down at him, “Sounds interesting. Maybe you can tell me more about it someday.”

Both looked over as they heard,

“Sam.”

Dean was standing in front of Sam’s table; they hadn’t heard his approach during their conversation.

“Hello,” Cody greeted the elder Winchester, “Did you need help finding anything?”

“I need you to get your hand off my brother.”

The growl in Dean’s voice left little room for argument, and Cody complied immediately. Sam blinked – he had barely realized that the man’s hand had been on his shoulder during their talk, having been too busy trying to think of a cover story.

“I do apologize,” Cody began, “I wanted to make certain he had everything he needed..”

“He has everything he needs.”

Dean’s fists were clenched at his sides, his green gaze locked on the other man. Sam recognized the look in them: Dean was in hunter mode, assessing and preparing to take on a suspected threat.

Cody nodded quickly in agreement, before turning his eyes to Sam. He smiled, suddenly, and leaned closer to speak near his ear, “If you need anything at all, Sam, please come and find me.” He reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder – the teen pulled back at the touch, brows furrowing.

His eyes shifted to Dean, to find his brother moving around the table, going straight for the librarian.

“Dean!” Sam stood and moved to intercept his brother, even as Cody’s eyes widened and he quickly backed away from the brothers. “Dean, no!” The teen raised his hands, placing them on Dean’s shoulders to try to prevent him from reaching the retreating man behind him, “Not worth having the police called, Dean. C’mon, it’s fine.”

“Fucking touch my _15-year-old_ brother again,” the elder Winchester growled, pushing against Sam’s grip, “and you’ll regret it, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Sam glanced over his shoulder, to see that Cody was (wisely) walking, rather quickly, away from them and toward the check-out desk.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam shifted to block Dean’s line of vision, “C’mon, it’s okay.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, features softening a bit. He scowled again seconds later and instructed, “Get your shit. We’re getting out of here.”

Sam acquiesced without complaint. The books here hadn’t any useful information, and he could look up internet articles at the house. If it would keep Dean from pummeling a stranger in a library, he would comply. 

He shoved his laptop in his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder, then allowed Dean to guide him from the library, a hand at the small of his back urging him toward the exit.

When they were out of the building and in the Impala, Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean shot him a glance before starting the car and pulling out onto the street. Green eyes flicked to him again as he asked,

“Dean? You okay?”

“Yeah,” the man muttered, gripping tight the steering wheel, “Yeah. It was the way he was looking at you, Sam. Like you were a choice piece of meat. And he was fucking touching you! Creepy son-of-a-bitch gave me bad vibes.”

“It’s okay,” he assured, “I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you going back there by yourself, Sam.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the request for a promise.

“Sam, promise me!”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, “I promise. I won’t go back there by myself.”

Some of the tension left Dean’s shoulders at Sam’s agreement. He studied his older sibling for a moment, before turning his gaze to the passing scenery outside the window. He closed his eyes, a shiver running through him, as he recalled Dean’s growled warning to the librarian.

Had Dean’s voice always affected him like that? He thought about it on the ride home and decided yes, it always had.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 5]

Dean woke suddenly, dragged out of sleep by whatever dream he had been having. He blinked in the dark, staring up at the ceiling: he had been dreaming of that jerk from the library, the one who had been leering at Sam several days prior. He frowned as a remnant of the dream popped into his head – library jerk pulling Sam into a row of unlit shelving at the library, pulling him away from Dean.

The man sat up in the bed and glanced over at his still-sleeping brother. Even in the dark room, he could see Sam’s face. A fond smile touched his mouth as he studied the sleeping teen. He slipped out of the bed and quietly crossed the room, to grab some clothes. A glance at the bedroom window showed him that it wasn’t quite light out yet – the bedside clock read 5:40 a.m. He didn’t think he would be able to go back to sleep, though, so a morning run might do him some good.

When Dean was dressed, he left the house, gently shutting the front door. He took a moment to just breathe in the fresh, morning air before crossing the front porch. Five minutes of stretching, and then he was heading into the trees surrounding the house.

He set up a steady pace, enjoying the quiet and the fresh air. If he had to be up early, he preferred the quiet mornings. Those when could set his own pace, and he didn’t have someone shouting at him to go faster, do better.

He ran for several miles, trying to shake the images of his dreams of the previous night. The sun had risen above the horizon during his run, birds singing their morning songs. He was barely winded when he finally returned to the house, had barely broken a sweat in the warm morning air. Normally, he would be sweating, at least, given that it was summer and he had spent the last hour running. That concerned him a little. Actually, it concerned him a lot, but he was trying not to think about it just yet.

Dean entered the house and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. He downed two glasses – running was thirsty work – and made a quick stop in the bathroom. When finished, he went into the bedroom he was sharing with Sam.

It was funny, the way places took on the scents and feel of the people who inhabited them after a while. This room smelled already like Sam.

Dean crossed the room and halted beside the bed, staring down at his little brother. After a moment, he slid into the bed and beneath the blanket, careful not to wake the sleeping teen. He shifted closer, to press his chest against Sam’s back – the boy was sleeping on his left side – and slipped an arm over his waist. Dean leaned in to catch the scent of Sam’s hair; clean, and woodsy, with a hint of some type of jasmine mint shampoo. He inhaled another breath, entire body relaxing against his sleeping brother’s.

Had Sam _always_  smelled this good? He smelled like safety, like home. And why was he sniffing his brother’s hair, anyway?

Dean jerked slightly, startled, as Sam asked suddenly, voice thick with sleep, “Are you smelling me?”

“No!” Dean denied, pulling back slightly, “Why would I do that? Why are you so weird?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam murmured, sounding unconvinced, “If you say so. Wha’ time is it?”

“Early,” Dean brushed his fingers, almost absently, against Sam’s stomach, unintentionally tracing protection symbols, “Go back to sleep.”

Sam went still again, breathing evening out in sleep, and Dean leaned in close to catch his scent again.

 

Later that afternoon, Dean entered the kitchen to find Sam sitting at the table, laptop open in front of him. It appeared his brother was taking notes on whatever he was reading: a notebook and pencil lay next to the laptop.

“Reading porn?” he teased, lightly tugging a lock of Sam’s hair as he passed by the younger teen.

“Mm,” Sam hummed, engrossed in his article, “No, that’s more your thing.”

Dean shot a smirk in his direction, before telling him, “I’m going to ride into town for a bit. You want to come along?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Sam tore his eyes from the laptop to glance at Dean, “I think I can skip watching you flirt with all the pretty girls today.”

“You could flirt with them, too, if you tried,” Dean checked to make certain he had his wallet and his gun, “You’re not ugly, you know.”

Sam raised a brow, “Thanks? I think?”

“You know what I mean,” the man huffed, rolling his eyes “Just gotta get over that shyness.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes as he countered, “Okay. I’ll get right on that.” His attention was drawn back to whatever he was reading as he finished, “Have fun.”

“I’ll lock the door behind me,” Dean picked up the Impala’s keys, which had a house key on the ring, “Don’t let anyone in, don’t talk to strangers.”

“Yeah,” Sam smirked at his departing back, “Lots of those out here at the edge of civilization.”

 

When his brother left the house, the click of the front door lock indicating that he had locked the door behind him, Sam stood and stretched. He worked his stiff muscles a bit, trying to loosen them up – he had been doing research for a couple of hours now – then crossed to the fridge. He retrieved a can of soda from it before moving to the counter and the cell phone there.

Opening the contact menu, Sam scrolled through the few names listed there. He found the one he wanted and pressed it, then lifted the phone to his ear.

Two rings, then a gruff, “Hello?” as someone answered at the other end of the line.

“Hey Bobby. It’s Sam.”

_"Sam! What’s wrong? Everything okay?”"_

“Yes and no. Did you find out anything about werewolf bites?”

 _“Werewolf bites?”_ Bobby sounded perplexed, _“I have some information about ‘em. Why?”_

A heavy feeling crept into Sam’s chest, and he asked, “Dad called you, right?”

_"No, haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. What’s going on, Sam?”_

Sam frowned at nothing in particular at that bit of information. Their father hadn’t called the person with the most extensive supernatural-related library they knew?

_“Sam?”_

The teen sighed and began to fill Bobby in on the night Dean had been bitten. He didn’t leave out the fact that John had used his brother as wolf-bait, which had the man at the other end of the line uttering a string of colorful curses.

_“That moron! What the hell was he thinking? Balls. I’ll do some research, Sam, see what I can find out. I’ll make some calls, too. Rufus has dealt with werewolves, I’ll see if he has any insight without letting him know it’s Dean. If we can beat this thing, we will.”_

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam hung up the phone feeling a bit better, now that Bobby was in the loop and was going to research the matter. He hesitated, flicking through the contacts menu again. He paused on the one labeled ‘Dad’, thumb hovering above it. With a sigh, he closed the phone and pocketed it, then headed back to his laptop.

They hadn’t heard from their dad since his departure several days ago and, honestly, Sam wasn’t certain they would.

 

Sam was sitting on the living room sofa, old television on but mostly ignored, later that night. Most of his attention was devoted to the laptop propped on his lap. He finished the article he was reading, then rubbed his eyes with his palms in frustration and weariness. He had been searching for information all day, but hadn’t come across anything particularly helpful, in regards to undoing lycanthropy. Most of the sites were either so full of myth and role-playing that it almost hurt to read them, or concluded that lycanthropy couldn’t be cured. That didn’t mean he was going to give up his search. He intended to continue searching, for as long as it took. Hopefully Bobby’s search for information was going better than his own.

Sam was just about to click on the next website when he heard the Impala’s engine. He listened to it draw closer, watching as headlights shone in through the front window and on the far wall. It was comforting, the sound of that car’s engine: it reminded him of home. Of Dean.

The engine was shut off and, moments later, there was the sound of a car door closing. Sam’s eyes shifted from the curtained window, to the front door; a minute later, he heard the door being unlocked. It opened, and his brother sauntered into the house, stepping over the salt lines Sam had laid down earlier almost without thought.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean closed and locked the door behind him, careful not to break the salt line, “Waited up for me? Aren’t you sweet.”

“It’s like 8:30, dumbass,” he retorted, eyes shifting to his laptop’s screen, ”Dinner’s on the stove.”

“Mm,” Dean paused long enough to tousle his hair – Sam grimaced and pulled away – on his way to the kitchen, “Thanks.”

His brother had taken two steps away from the couch, after messing up his hair, when he halted suddenly. Sam watched as the man tilted his head; Dean seemed to be sniffing the air.

“What is that?” he barely caught his brother’s muttered words.

“Probably the spaghetti?” He wasn’t certain if the question had even been directed at him, but he answered anyway. He raised a brow as Dean shook his head no.

“Something else..” The man inhaled a deep breath, eyes closed; suddenly they shot open and he looked at Sam.

Sam watched, perplexed, as the man crossed to stand next to the couch. Both brows shot up as Dean leaned in suddenly, putting his face inches from Sam’s head, and inhaled deeply.

“It’s you.”

Sam was about to inform him that he had showered just a bit ago, thankyouverymuch, when Dean inhaled deeply again.

“You smell great, Sam,” his brother murmured, voice low and near the teen’s ear.

Sam shifted slightly, trying to hide the fact that his brother’s voice, low and husky, was affecting him. “Uh.. Thanks?” he shot Dean a glance from the corner of his eye.

Dean pulled back suddenly, cheeks flushed and embarrassment on his face, and muttered, “I’m hitting the shower.”

Sam watched as his brother left the room, his mind racing. That had been a bit odd, but everything seemed to be a bit odd these days. He knew that werewolves had not only increased strength and speed, but their senses were heightened, also. It worried him. If Dean _had_ been infected by the werewolf bite, Sam didn’t think he would be able to shoot him. He didn’t think he would be able to let their father shoot him.

Dean’s words of several days before popped into his head: _‘I want you to do what you have to do to keep people safe. To keep you safe.’_

Sam muttered a curse beneath his breath, heart slamming against his ribs and threatening to crack into pieces.

 

Dean stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound down on him. He poured a handful of shampoo in his hand and began soaping his hair, trying to distract himself. He was rinsing it out when he realized that he couldn’t get his brother’s suddenly-tantalizing scent out of his head.

He had always liked the way Sam smelled, even if he had never confessed it aloud: it had always reminded him of safety and home and family.  Now, though.. now it seemed to wrap itself around him, distracting him and pulling him toward it. _Tempting_ him. He muttered a low curse beneath his breath, muffled by the sound of the shower. Even now, his body was reacting to the remembered scent of the teen in the other room.

What the hell was _that_ all about? Yeah, his brother was good-looking. Yeah, okay, maybe Dean _had_ had a slight attraction to him since the kid had hit puberty. He was still his brother. It still didn’t mean his body was allowed to react like it was now.

Apparently, his body hadn’t gotten that message.

Dean muttered another curse as he reached down to grip his hardening dick. He closed his eyes, one hand against the tiled shower wall, and began to stroke himself. An image of Sam popped into his head, and Dean groaned softly as his dick jerked. Realization of just how much he wanted his little brother struck him hard. “Fuck.” He wanted to bury his face against his brother’s neck and inhale the scent of him; lick his throat and taste him; bite down to draw blood, taste it on his tongue..

A breathless curse escaped his lips as he began to cum, his hot seed hitting the shower wall. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath as he finished, eyes closed and mind chastising him for jerking off while thinking of Sam.

When his breathing had returned to something close to normal, Dean opened his eyes and turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower and snagged a towel from the towel bar to dry off.

When he had toweled himself mostly dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped to the bathroom mirror. He raised a hand to wipe it across the glass, leaving a streak on the fogged surface. He stared at himself for a moment, image blurred by condensation and fog, and he was certain of two things:

One: He wanted his own brother in ways he had never allowed himself to think about before now.

Two: He had been, almost certainly, infected by that werewolf’s bite.

Dean, dressed in jogging pants and a t-shirt, paused upon entering the bedroom several minutes later. His eyes fell on Sam, whom was lying on the bed. There was an open book on his chest, but his brother was staring up at the ceiling.

“You okay?” he asked as he moved into the room. He paused as he heard a muttered ‘no’ in response, and glanced over at the teen.

Dean’s brows furrowed and he crossed to the bed. “Sammy?”

“Will you lay with me?” The younger teen’s hazel gaze shifted to him – Sam’s eyes were red, as if he had been crying. The site was like a knife to the heart, and Dean nodded in agreement.

He crawled onto the bed, tugging the unread book out of Sam’s hands to place it on the bedside table. He shifted so that he was lying next to his brother and tugged the blankets up over the two of them. His arms slipped around Sam as the teen rolled onto his side and snuggled close, one arm draped over his waist and face pressed against Dean’s chest.

“What’s wrong, babyboy?” the old nickname slipped out before he thought about it, and Sam’s hold on him tightened.

“Why are our lives so fucked up?” Sam muttered, voice muffled against his t-shirt, “Dean, I can’t do it. If you – if it – I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling the other closer and breathing in Sam’s scent, “Sammy, it’s okay. We’ll work it out later, okay? Let’s just lay here for now, yeah?”

Sam nodded and pressed his face against Dean’s neck. “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t mention the wetness against his skin, which he suspected was tears. He simply held his brother close, gently stroking his back, until Sam finally succumbed to sleep. He placed a kiss on top of his brother’s head then, and gave into sleep himself.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 7]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fluffier than a were-fur coat

_ ‘… leave a message.’ _

“Dad, it’s Sam. Haven’t heard from you, wanted to check in.”

He didn’t bother saying anything else, simply ended the call. Sam sighed in frustration, running a hand through his shaggy hair. It wasn’t unusual for their father to keep them out of the loop, to not contact them for days or weeks at a time. This time was different, though. This time it was Dean on the line.

The phone in his hand rang suddenly, and Sam glanced at it, expecting it to be his dad, calling him back.

Bobby.

“Hey Bobby.”

_ ‘How’s it going, Sam? How’s Dean?’ _

“It’s okay, I guess. He’s okay so far. Any new information?”

_ ‘Still looking. There’s a lot to sort through. I ain’t going to jerk you around, Sam. I haven’t found anything that mentions reversing or curing a werewolf’s bite.’ _

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, shifting the phone to his other ear, “Same.”

_ ‘That don’t mean I’m giving up. I’m driving over to Pastor Jim’s tomorrow to pick up some old books and hunter’s journals. Fingers crossed that I’ll find something helpful.’ _

“Thanks, Bobby. We appreciate this, more than you know.”

_ ‘Well. You know. I do what I can. Call me if you need anything, Sam. If you need me there, I’ll jump in the car and get there. Don’t you even hesitate.’ _

“I know. Thanks again, Bobby.”

 

Sam made his way out to the front porch, where Dean was sitting on the step. He took a seat next to his brother, whom was staring out at the trees.

“Nothing from dad?” Dean asked finally.

“Not yet,” Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. He glanced at his brother, but Dean’s expression was stoic.  “Bobby’s still looking into it. We’ll find something, Dean.”

“Maybe,” the young man’s gaze dropped to the ground, “Maybe not. Sam —“

“Not gonna shoot you.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to him, and his brother studied his face for a moment. “What if you don’t have a choice?”

“I’ll make it a choice,” he countered, meeting that green gaze, “So I guess we had better come up with a contingency plan, just in case.”

“A contingency plan, huh?” Dean shot him a bit of a smile, “Some place to lock me up during the full moon?”

He nodded in agreement.

 

Later that evening, Sam was back at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of him. He had been looking for more werewolf-related information for the last couple of hours, and his back was starting to feel it. He bookmarked the article he was currently reading and stretched where he sat, trying to work some of the kinks out of his back.

Sam glanced toward the living room as Dean called from the couch,

“Why don’t you take a break from that, Sam? You’ve been at it for hours. Come and watch this movie with me.”

He hesitated – he needed to do more research, find something to help his brother. He smiled and rolled his eyes as his brother fake-whined,

“Saaaam! Pay attention to me!”

“Shut up, jerk,” he closed his laptop and stood, “I’m coming.”

“Hurry up, bitch,” Dean shot him a playful smirk, “You’re missing the good parts.”

“None of it’s good,” he moved into the living room and swatted at his brother’s feet, where Dean was stretched out, “This whole movie sucks. Move over.”

“No, you suck,” Dean countered, grabbing his arm as he started to sit and pulling him down next to him.

“Dean!” he tried to squirm away but his brother’s hold was firm; the other tugged him down so that he was lying in front of him, his back against Dean’s chest. “This couch isn’t big enough for this.”

“Mm,” Dean only hummed noncommittally, slipping an arm over his waist to pull him close.

“When did you get so cuddly?” Sam tried to glance over his shoulder at the other.

“Dunno,” was the response, “Is it too much?” His brother was practically draped over him at this point, arm over his waist and leg tangled with Sam’s, “Want me to stop?”

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head, “It’s okay, I guess.”

He tried focusing on the lame movie on television, but it was difficult with Dean plastered against him, practically nuzzling his hair. His brother’s behavior was definitely a little off, but it wasn’t something he intended to complain about. It was when Dean inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent and tightening his hold, that Sam asked softly, “You okay, Dean?”

“Dunno, Sam,” his brother’s admission was a whisper near his ear, “Just –“ The other hesitated for a second, “Just need this. Is this okay? I’ll stop if it’s weird. It’s probably weird, right? I’ll stop, I’m sorry, I’ll –“

“Dean,” Sam grasped hold of his brother’s arm as Dean started to pull away, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“You’re sure?” his brother sounded uncertain, though he slipped his arm around Sam again, “I can –“

“I’m sure,” Sam assured him, “It’s cool.”

Dean settled back down, tugging him back against his chest again. Sam couldn’t help the smile that touched his mouth as his brother buried his face in his hair again.

He laughed outright as Dean muttered, embarrassment tracing his voice, “Shut up, Sam.”

They were still lying on the couch sometime later; the first movie had gone off and they were watching the one that started after the commercial breaks. They were twenty minutes into the movie when it became apparent that it was a werewolf flick.

Sam felt Dean tense behind him, and he shifted to glance over his shoulder, at his brother. Dean’s eyes were on the television screen, an uneasy expression etching his features. He reached for the remote, which was lying on the couch arm, saying,

“I’ll change it.”

“It’s fine,” Dean shook his head, “You can watch it.”

“Nah,” Sam flipped through the channels, “I’ve seen it, it’s stupid.”

He stopped when he came to _The X-Files_. He grinned as his brother chuckled and asked,

“Really?”

“You know you love it.”

“It’s good for a laugh,” his brother agreed, “Let me up, gotta piss.”

Sam rolled his eyes and got up so his brother could get to his feet. He seated himself in the middle of the couch and watched as, on-screen, Mulder freaked out about a potential Chupacabra.

“Mulder reminds me of you,” Dean remarked when he returned to the living room several minutes later, two of their father’s beers in hand, “Geeking out over monsters and shit.”

“Does that make you Scully?” he took the beer Dean offered him.

“Yep,” Dean sat down next to him and opened his own beer, “Smart and sexy. That’s me.” The man glanced at his face and laughed, “If you roll your eyes any harder, they’re going to fall out.”

Sam knew they would be on the couch for the rest of the night when a  _ Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  _ marathon began right after  _ The X-Files  _ episode ended.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 9]  
> Protective Dean is protective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, double-posted this chapter. I think t'is fixed now

“Damnit.”

Sam scowled darkly as he hung up the phone without leaving a voicemail for his father. Almost two weeks, and not one call from the man, nor had he answered any of Sam’s calls.

“No luck with dad’s phone?”

Sam started at the sound of Dean’s voice behind him and glanced over his shoulder. He was about to respond to his brother, whom was standing in the open front door, but momentarily froze. Dean was standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of faded jeans, with a towel slung over one shoulder. He had just gotten out of the shower, obviously; his hair and skin were still damp. The site of him without his shirt seemed to short-circuit Sam’s brain, momentarily, and  _ what the hell? _

He had seen his brother without a shirt a zillion times. Sure, Dean was muscled, firm in all the right places, skin damp from his shower and those adorable freckles..

Sam jerked his eyes away before his brother caught him staring.  _ Fuck.  _ He shook his head no in what he hoped was a timely response to Dean’s question. Another glance at the man found that Dean was staring at him, expression mildly puzzled. Sam nearly panicked, tried to cover it,

“No, nothing from dad. Bobby got his hands on some old hunter journals and stuff, though. He said he’s going through them. Hopefully he’ll find something soon.”  

He heard Dean crossing the porch to join him on the step. The older man sat down next to him, eyes focused on the woods that surrounded the house.

“It’s nice here,” his brother finally spoke, “Might be nice, living in a place like this.”

“So let’s live here,” his gaze shifted to the trees around them; he could see the appeal. It was quiet, peaceful, people didn’t bother them, and town wasn’t that far away. His glanced over at Dean as the other chuckled softly.

“It’s a nice thought,” Dean picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans, “If – you know, our lives weren’t traveling from one place to another.”

“So let’s stop traveling from one place to another.”

Dean was silent for several seconds before shooting Sam a wry smile, “Even if that was a thing we did, there’s still – we won’t know until the moon –“

“Screw the moon,” Sam’s fists clenched where they rested on his knees. He was angry, suddenly. Angry that Dean had to fight alone whatever internal and mental battles he had to fight, with the concerns that he might change into something else at the rise of the full moon; angry at their father, for putting Dean in these circumstances, for using his brother as bait and caring more about a hunt than Dean’s safety; angry at their lives, for the fact that they had been traveling place-to-place since they were little kids. Angry at the wistful expression on Dean’s face when he talked about settling down, that he felt it wasn’t something they could actually do.

“Screw the moon,” he repeated angrily, “Even if it happens, fuck it. We can stay. These mountains are huge. We can stay, you can run around in them during the full moon until your wolfy heart's content. The mountains are full of deer, and coyotes, and hell, bears even. You can eat those. We can live here and dad can go away to do whatever the hell he wants. Screw him, too.”

His gaze shifted to Dean, and he found that his brother was staring at him with a grin on his face.

“What?”

“My wolfy heart?” Dean laughed suddenly.

Sam huffed and looked away, muttering, “Shut up, Dean.”

“Nah, Sam, don’t be mad,” his brother shifted closer with a grin and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him close, “It’s – it’s kinda nice.”

“What is?” he tried to pull away, but Dean had him in a mock headlock. He went still as Dean leaned in to rest his forehead against Sam’s.

“Someone looking out for me,” the man murmured, green eyes meeting Sam’s, “You looking out for me. Caring enough that, even if I turn into a monster –”

“You’ll never be a monster,” Sam raised his hands and gently grasped his brother’s face, “Even if you do change, you’ll never be a monster.  _ Never _ , Dean.”

Dean sighed softly, eyes closing for a moment. He opened them again and pulled back to stare out at the trees.

“Sam, if it happens – and I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen – you need to do whatever it takes to protect people. From me.”

Sam swallowed hard, started to shake his head no.

“Sam,” Dean grasped his arm, and Sam glanced over at him, “Sammy, I know. I know you don’t want to do it. Let dad do it, if he’s here. But if he’s not, and I change.. I can’t hurt people. You can’t let me hurt people. You have to do whatever you need to do.”

“I need to keep you safe,” his voice was a whisper, tears flooding his eyes.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean pulled him into his arms, and Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck, “Sammy, sweetheart, I know. But I need you to keep other people safe from me, too. If that means – you know I wouldn’t ask it of you, not ever, if there was another way.”

“We’ll find something,” he couldn’t stop his sob as he clung tightly to his brother, “We’ll find a safe place to lock you up if we don’t find something before it happens.”

“I hope so,” Dean rubbed his back, trying to soothe him, “but if we don’t..”

Sam opened eyes wet with tears to look up at his brother as Dean pulled back a bit, “Sam, listen. If we don’t find a cure, or a place that can hold me if I change, you can’t let me kill anyone. You can’t let me hurt  _ you. _ Sam, please..”

He saw the anguish in his brother’s green gaze, the fear that he was going to cause his little brother harm, or kill another. He sniffed but nodded yes. Relief touched Dean’s features as he whispered, “Okay, Dean. We’ll find a way to fix it, but if it happens, I won’t let you hurt anyone.”

Sam bit down a heartbroken sob, trying to avoid upsetting his brother, as Dean hugged him tight and whispered against his hair,

“Thank you.”

 

They decided they needed out of the house a while for dinner that evening, and ended up at May Kelly’s Cottage, a local Irish pub. Dean had raised a brow but led the way inside: the delicious scent of cooking burgers and Irish fare and fresh fries had immediately chased away his skepticism.

The waitress was friendly, the atmosphere was relaxing and comfortable, and the food was wonderful. Dean had just finished off his second burger, and he looked completely sated. It never ceased to amuse Sam how good food could satisfy Dean to no ends.

Of course, it was understandable, given their lifestyles and the fact that there were times when they barely had enough food. It didn’t happen often anymore – Dean was old enough now to get a job when they camped for however long in whatever town, if John failed to provide – but he could remember a time or two (though Dean would deny it ever happened) when his brother had skipped meals to make certain Sam had enough food.

Sam stirred his Coke with his straw, brows creased a bit. Their lives were crazy and hardly consistent, but Dean always had been. Dean had always been the one stable point in his life, always. His rock and protector and, more often than not, his guardian. He raised his eyes to his brother, and Dean shot him a warm, fond smile. Sam returned it with one of his own, heart slamming against his ribs as he was reminded again how much his brother meant to him. How much his brother looked out for, protected, and, even if they didn’t often say the words, loved him.

He was not about to let something like a werewolf bite take the man from him.

When they were finished with their meal, Dean paid the check, left the waitress a hefty tip (“Dad’s money,” the other had informed him with a smirk) and was talking to two gentlemen about the hunting in the area. Sam smiled at the man’s tactics – Dean’s way of testing the waters to see if there was anything (beyond that stupid werewolf) of  _ their  _ type to hunt.

After several minutes, he stifled a yawn and, excusing himself from the small group, asked Dean for the Impala’s keys. His brother handed them over with a warm smile, fingers brushing his own (and why the hell wouldn’t his heart stop dancing in his chest at that simple little touch? It was  _ Dean,  _ for fucks sake!). He nodded when Dean promised he would be out in a couple of minutes, and headed out of the building.

Sam was crossing the parking lot, toward the Impala, when he heard someone call his name. He turned, eyes searching the street-lamp lit parking lot, and spotted a figure standing at the side of the building, facing the lot.

Cody, the guy from the library. The man was standing with two boys who looked to be about Sam’s age, or younger. The man waved him over, and Sam hesitated, recalling Dean’s warning about not being alone with the man. Still, his brother was just inside and the parking lot was public. He crossed toward the man, not wanting to be rude: he would say hi and then he would go sit in the car. He saw Cody lean in and whisper to the boys with him; they grinned and nodded, and headed across the lot, passing Sam in the process.

The way the man watched the boys sent an uneasy feeling through him, and his step faltered. Forget it, he was going to turn around and go back to the car, and –

“Hey there.” Too late; the man had approached during his hesitation, and was grinning down at him, “Here alone?” Eyes shifted around the area, back toward the pub. Looking for Dean, without a doubt.

“No,” Sam shot him a tight smile and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’m here with my brother.”

Cody looked a bit uneasy at the mention of his brother, but shot him another syrupy grin, “Planning on coming back to the library?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged a shoulder (mentally adding  _ ‘But not alone and not while you’re there’ _ ).

“Great,” Cody’s grin widened, and he moved half a step closer, “I have several boxes of new books I would  _ love  _ to show you. Maybe we could discuss them together, after you’ve read them, of course.”

The man froze suddenly, smile disappearing and body going rigid, as something hard was pressed against the side of his head and a deep voice growled,

“I have a whole clip of bullets I would  _ love _ to empty into your head, before you’ve finished perving on my brother.”

Sam blinked at Dean; he hadn’t even heard his brother approach. It was obvious Cody hadn’t, either; the librarian was frozen in place, eyes wide and more than a little terrified.

“L-look –“ Cody started, stammering in his rush to explain himself, “I was just talking to –“

“Oh, I know exactly what you were doing,” Dean pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against the man’s head, the rage on his face apparent, even in the dark, and Cody cringed.

“Dean,” Sam moved to his brother’s side, voice low and soothing, “C’mon, Dean, it’s okay. We’re kinda out in the open, here.”

Dean shot him a side glace, immediately shifting his eyes back to Cody. ‘Back to his prey’, thought Sam. He caught the angry smile on his brother’s mouth as Dean countered,

“Think we should take this some place more private? No witnesses?”

Cody let out a sound of fright, and Sam refrained from rolling his eyes at the man.

“I think we should walk away from this tool and go home,” he shot back, moving closer to his brother.

Dean shot him another glance; after a moment, the man lowered his gun and released the hammer, then clicked on the safety and shoved it in the waist of his jeans. Cody’s relieved expression disappeared immediately as Dean growled at him,

“That was your last warning. Don’t talk to my brother again. Don’t look at him, don’t even think about him. If you see him coming down the street, you fucking cross to the other side. Next time, I’ll end you. We clear?”

A vigorous nod yes, and Dean snorted in derision and stepped back from the man.

“Go,” he growled, “Shoo.”

The librarian complied immediately, walking rapidly across the lot away from them. He crossed the street, barely pausing to look for traffic, and headed quickly up the sidewalk on the other side.

Sam’s eyes shifted to Dean as his brother stepped close. “Okay, Sammy?” The look in Dean’s eyes – protective, fierce, almost possessive – had him swallowing hard and nodding yes. Dean raised a hand and brushed the back of his knuckle down Sam’s cheek – Sam closed his eyes at the touch, every nerve in his body lighting up and a shiver running through him. His brother pulled away after a second, and turned and headed across the lot with a muttered, “C’mon.”

When he remembered how to breathe again, he followed after his brother.

 


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 13]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boys get frisky in this chapter

Sam raised his eyes from his laptop as he heard Dean enter the kitchen. He had been searching for more information, trying to find something to help his brother’s possible condition, all day.

“Why don’t you take a break from that?” Dean suggested, snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, “You’ve been staring at that thing for most of the week. Come outside and spar with me.”

Sam hesitated only a moment, before shoving back his chair and standing. He did need a bit of a break, and some fresh air and exercise – even if it was training-related – sounded pretty good. He stretched his stiff muscles and closed his laptop, then followed his brother out of the house.

 

The brothers debated on a spot, then went around the house, to the backyard. They spent a few minutes stretching, then faced off against one another.

Normally, Sam could hold his own against his brother when they fought, at least for a little while. He had gotten taller over the last year, filled out his frame a bit. Still not as tall as he would be in a couple of years, but he had definitely gained some height. This time, however, Dean had him on the ground and pinned in under a minute.

“Damn,” Sam gasped in surprise, eyes wide, as his brother pinned him, “What the hell was that?”

Dean, whom was straddling his waist and pinning his wrists to the ground, swallowed visibly. It was obvious to them both that he was faster than the last time they had sparred, and stronger.

“Shit,” his older brother muttered, brows drawn together.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam soothed softly, “We’ll figure this out. It’s okay.”

The other stared at him for a moment; Sam blinked as his brother leaned forward suddenly, pressing his face against Sam’s neck.

“Dean?” What was up with his brother’s new-found obsession with smelling him?

“You smell so good,” his brother murmured against his skin, voice slightly muffled, “Why the hell do you smell so good?”

“I don’t know?” Sam tried to turn his head to look at Dean, but the man didn’t lift his head, “Dean?”

He was certain, later, that a sound definitely-probably-almost more dignified than a squeak of surprise escaped him as he felt suddenly a warm, rough tongue trail up the side of his throat.  Dean was licking him? That rough wetness trailed up his throat and along his jawline, and it sent a hard shudder through Sam.

“Fuck,” Dean’s voice was a husky growl near his ear, “Taste so fuckin’ good, Sammy. Could just eat you up.”

A low, soft moan escaped his throat at the words – his entire body was definitely on board with that, cock included. He whined softly, clutching at his brother’s back, as Dean nipped lightly at his throat, teeth scraping flesh.

“Dean..” his voice was a breathless whisper, body lighting up like electricity was running through it.

Sam opened his eyes as Dean jerked away suddenly. His brother was staring down at him, a horrified expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Dean shifted off him, scooting away to put distance between them, “Shit, fuck, Sam, I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry. Shit.”

“Dean –“ he started, sitting up on his knees.

Dean shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet, “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me? I’m so sorry.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean turned and was gone, running through the woods and away from him.

 

Dean ran hard for several minutes, before finally slowing down. He came to a stop and leaned against a large tree to catch his breath.

What the fuck had he just done? He had practically molested his little brother, and hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Sam had spoken his name. Dean closed his eyes, lightly banging his forehead against the tree. What the hell was wrong with him?

His entire body felt like it was on fire, Sam’s scent wrapped around him. He was certain it was more than a werewolf bite causing this heat within him. He wanted to turn back, run back to his brother, pin him to the ground and taste every inch of him..

He drew a shuddering breath, licking his lips. A low groan escaped him as he tasted Sam on them, a whispered ‘fuck’ escaping him. His reached down and gripped his cock, which was hard again, through his jeans. Pressing his back against the tree for support, he began to rub himself as he recalled the scent of his brother, the taste of his skin beneath his lips. The button of his jeans was a momentary aggravation as Dean fumbled to undo it; finally, it was undone, zipper shoved down. He shoved them out of the way, freeing his cock, and began to stroke himself.

He licked his lips again, wetting them and tasting his brother on them. His dick jerked hard in his hand, and he wanted to run back to that backyard he had just fled, shove his brother down and pin him, take him in every way possible.

A shudder of hunger ran through his body as he fucked up into his fist and imagined licking every inch of Sam. Taking his cock in his mouth, swallowing down his cum, biting him and marking him with his teeth, claiming him. It was when he imagined marking Sam, laying ownership to him, licking Sam’s blood off his skin, that his orgasm crashed into him; he shuddered hard with the force of it, a low groan tearing from his throat, as shot after shot of hot cum pumped from his dick, hitting the ground.

When his breathing had slowed and his lust had been abated, Dean did up his jeans and sat down on the ground, back against the tree. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath. He would just have to maintain his distance from his brother until he could control himself better.

 

That noble plan lasted all of six hours.

He wandered the woods until night fell, and then sat out in the backyard, staring up at the star-lit skies. When it was late, and he figured Sam would be asleep, he slipped quietly into the house.

His every intention was to sleep on the couch, or in the room John had occupied before he had taken off. He moved down the hallway, in that direction, but found himself standing outside the door of the room he shared with Sam.

He told himself to go to the other room, to stay away from his brother, but this room smelled like Sam. He was _drawn_ to it. He breathed a low curse as he found himself crossing to stand next to the bed.

Even in the dark of the room, he could make out Sam’s form, lying beneath a blanket. His brother was lying on his side, back to Dean; one hand was resting on the side of the bed where Dean usually laid.

The need to lie down next to his brother and just hold him was overwhelming. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t know, but he found himself crawling beneath the blanket, next to Sam.

“I was starting to worry you were going to sleep in the woods.”

Sam’s voice startled him, and Dean’s gaze flicked down to the teen. His brother’s eyes were open, watching him.

“Sam,” Dean hesitated, shifting to lay next to the teen, “I’m sorry. For earlier. I don’t know what happened.”

“S’okay, Dean,” his brother moved into his space, and Dean automatically slid his arms around him, “I’m not mad.”

“No?” he brushed his fingers through his brother’s hair as Sam rested his head on his chest, “Why not?”

Sam shrugged and, fingers clutching at his thin t-shirt, answered quietly, “Just not. ‘Sides, it felt kinda nice.”

“Yeah?” Dean swallowed, tightening his arms around Sam, “You don’t think I’m a perv? That it’s sick, me doing that to my own brother?”

“Mm-mm,” Sam shook his head, fingers scratching across Dean’s chest, “Liked it.”

His whisper of “Sam,” trailed off as his brother’s fingers found his nipple and pinched it lightly through his shirt. A soft, wounded sound escaped his throat as the boy rolled the hard nub between his fingers, then leaned in to close his lips over it. Sam sucked on it, soaking the t-shirt covering it, then bit down lightly. Dean’s hips jerked off the bed, cock hard and aching again, and he opened lust-blown eyes to look at Sam.

He sat up suddenly, pushing Sam off him, and jerked off his shirt. He tossed it somewhere across the room, then rolled onto his brother to straddle his hips and pin him to the bed.

Sam stared up at his big brother, panting slightly through parted lips, as Dean straddled him suddenly. He groaned as Dean shifted against him, rocking down against his aching cock. His eyes widened slightly as he felt his brother’s hard shaft, pressing against his own, and he licked his lips.

Dean growled suddenly, leaning in to swipe his tongue up Sam’s throat. He tilted his head, giving his big brother better access, as he rocked up against him. It was a little frightening, how much he liked the feel of his brother on top of him, pinning him to the bed and holding him in place.

Dean’s lips and tongue set a burning path down his throat; when the man’s hot mouth closed over his nipple and began to suck it, Sam whined and arched against him, trying to free his hands from Dean’s iron grip. The man chuckled against his skin, and it felt like his entire body was on fire.

“Dean!” He was begging with his body as much as his mouth, and his brother was not disappointing him. The other bit down lightly on his nipple, rocking down against him. Sam found his hands freed as Dean moved down the length of him, mouth and tongue marking him with their heat.

The sensations were almost overwhelming, and Sam was drowning in them. He whined in need as Dean’s hands slipped below the waist of his pajama pants, shoving them down. His brother’s hot, wet tongue was suddenly trailing down the length of his hard cock, and he nearly came off the bed with a cry of pleasure. He heard Dean’s low growl, felt the other’s fingers trailing over his hip and down his thigh. Nails dug into Sam’s skin as Dean’s lips found the head of his shaft, licked and sucked it, before taking him in his mouth. His brother licked and sucked for several long moments, sending waves of pleasure through his body, then pulled off him.

Sam managed to open his eyes and look down at Dean as the other growled his name. He bit back a hungry moan at the sight of his big brother kneeling between his legs, lips swollen and red, wet with spit and pre-cum, and eyes nearly black with lust.

“Anyone ever had their mouth on your dick, Sam?”

The words were almost threatening, and it sent a shockwave of lust through him. He shook his head no, and Dean growled, “Good. Mine,” and swallowed the head of his dick again. It was hot and possessive and it was undoing Sam completely.

Dean’s mouth was magic, he decided. The other sucked and licked his throbbing shaft, circled the crown before licking at the head again with soft, certain strokes of his tongue. Sam moaned and pulled him closer as the other licked at his slit, lapping at the precum. It was when Dean bit down lightly on his cockhead, his normally green eyes blown black with lust and locked on Sam’s face, that Sam began to cum, hard and sudden. He gasped his brother’s name as his cock pulsed shot after shot into his brother’s mouth; Dean swallowed it down, licking and sucking even after he had emptied his load.

Dean finally pulled off him with a wet pop, and shifted up to straddle his waist. Sam watched, breath catching in his throat, as Dean freed his dick from the confines of his jeans and began jerking it. The man stripped it hard and fast, breathing uneven and eyes locked on Sam’s face. Sam licked his lips and whispered, “You can come in my mouth,” and he began to shoot with a low cry, covering Sam’s stomach and chest with ropes of his hot, thick cum.

He breathed out a soft “fuck” as Dean leaned forward and began to lick his cum from Sam’s chest and stomach. If he hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again just from this. It was far hotter than he had ever imagined, hotter than it had any right to be.

Sam hummed in pleasure as he licked a heated path up to his throat, teeth catching his flesh in a soft bite. He glanced down at his brother – Dean shot him a sated smile – as the other practically collapsed on him, head resting on his chest again.

He was stroking Dean’s hair when the man tightened his hold on him briefly and murmured what sounded like “mate”. His eyes dropped to his brother, and he was about to ask him what he said, but found that Dean was asleep.

 


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 14]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely notes, dears. <3

Sam was standing at the stove the next morning, cooking breakfast, when Dean entered the kitchen, bare feet barely making a sound on the linoleum floor. He wasn’t yet certain if things would be awkward between them. When his brother moved to him and pressed up against his back, arms around his waist and lips pressing against the side of his neck, he figured that was a negative on the awkwardness.

“Mm,” Sam tilted his head, allowing Dean’s tongue better access as the man licked a path up the side of his neck, “Quit distracting me. I’m going to burn breakfast.”

“Would rather have you as breakfast,” Dean murmured against his skin, his voice low and rough; it sent a shiver of pleasure through Sam. His big brother chuckled against his neck as he smirked and asked,

“Should I be concerned that you keep talking about eating me?”

Dean’s mouth moved to his earlobe, caught it and sucked it lightly for a moment. “Not the way I want to eat you,” the other whispered, hips pressing against his ass.

Sam groaned softly, his dick hard already. “Killing me here.”

Dean’s low chuckle at his ear had him shivering again. “I’ll let you finish breakfast, then,” the man nipped at his earlobe once more, before pulling away.

Sam was tempted to turn around and tackle him to the floor, and demand he finish what he started. His bacon would burn, though, and probably set the house on fire, and he still wouldn’t notice because he would be too distracted by Dean. Yeah, he should probably finish breakfast first.

 

Dean decided that, after breakfast, they needed to go for a long drive. Being behind the Impala’s wheel was a good look for his brother, Sam decided as he climbed into the passenger seat. The man shot him a knowing smirk as he started the car, and Sam was fairly certain he was blushing just a little.

Windows down, radio on, Dean behind the wheel and Sam in the passenger seat. Layers of morning fog covered fields they passed, slowly dissipating as the sun rose higher. He could get used to this. The two of them, going wherever they wanted and doing whatever they wanted. Screw full moons, and werewolf bites, and fathers who used their sons as bait.

They drove for a while, taking random back roads (“I’m _not_ going to get lost, Sam. I have an impeccable sense of direction! Wait – did we turn right or left here?”). They were driving down a back road several miles from their rented house, when Sam glanced out the window. “Turn up there,” he suggested, seeing a small, dirt road to the left. Dean spotted it and slowed the car; moments later, he was turning onto a small road about the width of a driveway.

They drove for maybe half a mile, when the road widened into a large clearing. At the back edge of the clearing, which was surrounded by the woods, there stood a small, stone building. Dean parked the car, and they climbed out.

“Careful!” Dean, always the vigilant hunter, called as Sam jogged ahead. He took the advice to heart, having walked into more than one weird monster-related situation over the past few years. He reached the building and found that it was, indeed, made of stone. A wooden door, weathered and aged but still in place, was cracked open.

When Dean joined him, Sam cautiously opened the wooden door. He raised a brow as he found a gate-like structure behind it. It was a door, but made of iron bars, complete with a locking latch. The brothers pulled it open and stepped into the building.

It was small, only one room, with small windows in each of the three walls that didn’t hold the doors. All three windows had iron bars on them. There was an old, wooden bench bolted to the far wall, in the corner. The floor was covered with leaves and dirt; scraping them away with a foot revealed that it was also stone.

“It’s a jail cell,” Sam realized, looking around, “A little old jail house.”

“Huh,” Dean ran a hand over the rough stone wall, knocking down a thin layer of dust, “It is. We saw one of these down in Kentucky, few years ago. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “It was a historical landmark or something.” He crossed back to the iron gate to inspect it, as Dean made his way over to the back window to peer outside.

“Complete with outhouse, out back,” the man chuckled.

Sam raised his head from his inspection of the lock and turned to his brother. “You know what else this is? A place to put you during the full moon.”

Dean tilted his head, reassessing the building from a hunter’s point-of-view. He nodded and agreed, “It might work,” as he crossed to join Sam at the door.

“We don’t have the key but we can get a big padlock to lock it,” Sam pointed to the gate’s lock, and the spot where a padlock would go, “Think it would hold?”

Dean nodded, “If the lock is big enough, and a good one.” The elder Winchester ran a hand over the wall’s surface again. “And if I’m locked up in here, I can’t hurt anyone. I can’t hurt you. I think we have our contingency plan, Sam.”

Sam grinned, relieved that maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about shooting his brother after all. His eyes shifted to Dean as the man moved close to him.

“You know what else this place is?”

He glanced around, and asked, “What?”

“Private.”

Oh. _Oh!_  He let out a shuddering breath as Dean pressed him back against the wall, lips finding his throat. He pulled his brother closer – Dean growled softly in approval – and agreed, “Yeah, we should probably take advantage of that.”

 

 

When the brothers finally left the little stone jailhouse, it was to drive to town. Dean parked the Impala outside of a hardware store, and they went inside. They browsed several aisles for a few minutes, finally finding the one where a variety of locks were kept.

“How’s this?” Sam picked up a large one – the stamped wording on the back proclaimed it real steel. He handed it to his brother, and Dean inspected it.

“I think that’ll work,” he nodded, picking up a second, equally large lock of another brand and checking it out. He discarded it after a moment and chose the one Sam had picked, which wasn’t so large that it wouldn’t fit through the lock latch, but large enough so that it would (hopefully) hold, even against someone with a werewolf’s strength. He stared at it for several seconds, then picked up a second one. “Just in case.”

They wandered further down the aisle, stopping at a display of chain. Dean inspected the different sizes; he had just made a selection when an older man, wearing a vest and a name tag which read ‘Abe’, approached.

“Help you boys?”

“I need two, two-foot lengths of this chain here,” Dean pointed to his selection, a spool of steel chain with thick links, “and a six-foot-length.”

“Alrighty,” the man went to work, measuring the chain and using the heavy-duty bolt cutters, attached to the shelving with a steel cable, to cut the right lengths. He placed the two-foot-lengths of chain in a plastic bucket sitting nearby, the kind used for light mopping or washing one’s car. He shot them a quizzical look as he began measuring out the second length, and Dean shot him a friendly smile.

“My little brother is trying to build a better coyote trap,” the lie sounded genuine, and Abe raised a brow.

“Huh,” the man finished his measuring and slipped the link he was going to cut between the bolt cutter’s sharp blades, “Let me know how that works out. Might need to borrow your idea, if it works.”

The second, cut length was placed in the plastic bucket, and the man pulled a pencil and small pad of paper from his vest pocket. He wrote out lengths and prices, then tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to Sam. He picked up the bucket and handed it to Dean – it was heavy, and Dean adjusted his grip, opting to hold it from the bottom instead of the flimsy wire handle.

“No charge for the bucket,” the man shot them a smile, “I don’t have paper bags sturdy enough to hold it, though.”

“No problem,” Dean nodded to the man, “Much appreciated.”

“You boys have a nice day. Good luck with your coyote trap, young man. Come back and let me know if it works – damn coyotes have killed two of my calves the past couple months.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance – coyote or werewolf, both were wondering – and Sam nodded and agreed “Will do.” They made their way to the register to pay for their selections.

Dean placed the chain and lock in the trunk of the Impala, then turned to Sam.

“Lunch?”

“Didn’t we eat breakfast a couple hours ago?”

“What can I say?” Dean led the way to a small restaurant a short distance up the sidewalk, “I’ve engaged in a lot of physical activity this morning. Worked up an appetite.” He waggled his brows for good measure, and Sam snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes.

When his brother ordered his burger ‘just short of rare’, Sam figured his increased appetite was because of more than a little extra physical activity.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 17]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smuuuut

Sam punched the cell’s ‘end call’ button in frustration as he heard the beginnings of John Winchester’s voicemail. He pocketed the phone and ran his hands through his too-long hair, pacing the kitchen.

Fourteen days since their father had left to try to find something to help Dean; seventeen days since Dean had been bitten. Not one word from their father. Sam knew that anything could have happened: John could have lost his phone; the man could be hurt; he could be dead, for all they knew; hell, he could be in jail. Wouldn’t be the first time. Still, if it wasn’t any of those things and he was choosing to ignore Sam’s calls, Sam was going to punch him right in the throat.

 

He moved through the house and out onto the front porch, where he seated himself on the step. The teen sighed heavily, elbows propped on his knees and head in his hands.

He raised his head as he heard movement, and saw his brother jogging through the trees, in his direction. He watched, admiring the way the other moved, as Dean approached the house.

“Hey,” his brother greeted, barely winded; he had been out running for at least an hour, and it had barely phased him, Sam noticed. The man took a seat next to him, reaching for a bottle of water that was sitting on the edge of the porch. Dean opened it and downed it, head tilted back, and Sam’s eyes were fixated on his throat. His brother finished the water, noticed him staring, winked at him.

“Any word from dad?”

Sam scowled darkly and shifted his eyes to the woods around the house. “’Course not,” he replied, knee bouncing in frustration, “He’ll ignore my calls for weeks, and then he’ll try to rush in and save the day at the last minute. Not that it wouldn’t be a good thing, if he came back with something that will help. It’s just – very frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his bouncing knee, “I know.”

Sam stilled at his brother’s touch, eyes shifting to the other’s face. Dean was studying him, a small smile on his mouth. “What?”

“Just like to look at you,” the other murmured. Dean flushed, realizing he had spoken it aloud, spots of red high on his cheeks that were just adorable to Sam. The man shot him a sheepish smile and looked away.

Dean’s eyes were on him again within seconds. He scooted closer, and leaned in to breathe deeply near Sam’s throat.

“You and your new scent fetish,” the teen teased, tilting his head to give his brother better access to his throat. Lips pressed against his skin, light kisses which sent shivers through him.

“Can’t help it,” the man murmured, nuzzling his throat, “You smell so fucking good.”

“Did you think so before the werewolf bite?” he asked curiously.

“Always liked the way you smell,” Dean laid his head on Sam’s shoulder, nose pressed against the material of his t-shirt, “Now it’s – more. It’s better. Stronger, like it’s – drawing me to you.” His deep voice dropped to a whisper, lips near Sam’s ear, “Intoxicating.”

The teen shivered, and his brother smiled and planted a kiss against his shoulder.

The man pulled away after several moments and stood. “I’m hitting the shower,” he informed, “You can join me if you want.”

Like he was going to turn that down.

Sam scrambled to his feet, Dean’s soft laugh reaching his ears, and followed his brother into the house.  

 

They didn’t even make it to the shower. They were passing by their shared bedroom when Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him into it. His brother’s hands were everywhere, sliding down his back and sides, over his arms, along his shoulders. The man tugged his shirt off him while walking him back toward the bed, leaning in to nip at his throat.

The backs of Sam’s knees hit the mattress, and then he was on his back on the bed, Dean lying over him. “Fuck, Sam,” that lust-rough voice at his ear sent shivers through his entire body, “You’re like a fucking drug. Can’t get enough of you.” Dean’s teeth scraped lightly along his throat, causing Sam to arch up against him.

“Tell me you’re mine,” the words were a rough whisper at his ear, teeth nipping his earlobe, “Only mine.”

“I’m yours,” he agreed, hands sliding down Dean’s muscled back, “Only yours, Dean.” The low, possessive growl from his brother’s throat sent another spike of need through him.

Dean kissed and licked his way down Sam’s body, sucking and nipping at his skin. He was a shivering, lust-filled mess by the time his brother reached the waist of his jogging pants. Dean’s fingers slipped beneath the waist of them, eyes raising to meet his gaze: a low, hungry moan escaped Sam as those eyes, blown nearly black with lust, met his own. The other shoved his pants and underwear down off his hips, revealing his hard, aching cock. Dean licked his lips, hunger etched in his features, and Sam moaned softly again.

That hungry expression had his cock twitching.

He nearly came off the bed, hips arching hard, as Dean leaned in and slowly trailed his tongue up the length of his cock. The man groaned, licked another slow swipe up his length, circling the tip of his tongue around the head of his dick.

Dean’s voice was low and raspy with lust, nearly a growl, “Taste so fucking good, baby boy.”

He whined, arching against his brother’s mouth, but Dean pulled back a bit, a devilish smirk on his lips. Sam moaned, spread his legs wider, as his brother’s hot mouth found his balls, began to lick and suck on them. The teen shuddered hard, precum spurting from the tip of his dick, as Dean’s mouth continued its hot path, moving to lick and suck behind his balls, licking down to his hole.

“Roll over, Sammy.”

Sam obeyed the growled command, rolling onto his stomach. His brother grasped his hips, and Sam shifted so that his ass was in the air, chest pressed against the mattress and hands clutching at the sheets.

He gasped, another spurt of precum dripping from his dick, as Dean leaned in and swiped his tongue over his hole again. He breathed a broken “fuck” as the man spread his cheeks, pressed his tongue into him.

Dean growled, low and hungry, as he alternated between licking Sam’s hole with the flat part of his tongue and pressing it into him. Sam rocked back against his brother’s mouth, fucking himself on Dean’s tongue, as he begged the man,

“Fuck, please Dean, yes..”

 

Dean breathed in the hot, musky scent of his little brother as he ate him out, fingers tightening on his ass cheeks. His own cock was throbbing, hard and heavy, and he wanted to bury it deep into the teen whom was spread open in front of him. He couldn’t bring himself to stop licking into him though, tasting his hot flesh, not yet. His brother’s scent was too intoxicating, his taste too good.

The words  _ more  _ and  _ mine  _ and  _ mate  _ screamed through Dean’s head and another growl, this one low and possessive, escaped his throat. He pressed his tongue deep, drawing another moan from Sam, before slipping a finger into the boy’s spit-slicked hole. Sam rocked back hard against his hand and mouth as Dean began to fuck into him, opening him up. He slipped in a second finger, and the teen writhed beneath his hands, trying to fuck himself on them.

Dean fucked his brother with his fingers, adding a third, until Sam was begging, until he himself was about to shoot his load all over the teen’s perfect ass. He reached over and opened the small drawer on the bedside table, fumbling for the small bottle of lube Sam had tossed in it several nights before, ‘just in case’. He finally grabbed it and popped open the cap, then squirted a handful right over his dick. It was cold but he didn’t care; he dropped the small bottle and grasped his cock, stroking it to slick it up.

When he was ready, aching dick coated with lube, he pulled his fingers free of his brother’s hole. Sam moaned in protest, rocking back to chase after them, and Dean had to grip the base of his cock hard to keep from coming. He took several deep breaths, calming himself, before shifting to press the head of his cock against his brother’s perfect little hole.

 

Sam went still as he felt his brother’s dick rubbing against him, trying to be patient. It was hard, his entire body was shaking in need, and he wanted to ram himself back on the other. Dean’s fingers brushed over his ass and he remained still, quivering in anticipation. Finally,  _ finally,  _ the man pressed forward, pushing into him. The head of his cock breached the tight ring of muscle, pressed deeper, and a low, hungry groan escaped Dean’s throat. It made Sam’s cock jerk, and he whined and rocked back, taking several inches of his brother’s shaft. It burned, he expected it but it still hurt, and he winced.

Dean’s hand fell on his hip, holding him still. “Easy, baby,” the man murmured, motionless to give him time to adjust, “Slow. Not going to hurt you.” Fingers reached around to brush his dick, thumb swiping over the dripping head, and Sam groaned in pleasure. His brother finally began to move, pushing deeper, that thumb stroking his cockhead. Sam let out a soft growl of his own and rocked back against the other; Dean groaned as his cock was buried to the hilt.

“Fuck me, Dean, please. Now. Please please please..”

Dean gave him what he wanted and began to thrust into him, slowly at first, dragging his cock out almost completely, before pushing back it. It was amazing, it was excruciating, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. His brother chuckled as he tried to rock back against him, gripped his hip with a strong hand to hold him in place.

Sam whined, voice breathless, “Killing me, Dean, fucking tease, c’mon, please!”

He received another chuckle which sent shivers through his entire body, caused his cock to jump beneath Dean’s fingers. The man relented finally and began to fuck him, one hand wrapped loosely around his cock, the other clutching his hip. The force of his thrusts rocked Sam forward, his cock sliding through Dean’s hand, and Sam wanted to cum right now. He moaned as Dean shoved deep, hitting something inside him that shot pleasure through every inch of his body.

“Like that, baby boy?”

The rough, gravelly purr sent another shudder through him. He was going to melt, right here in this bed, and it was going to be Dean’s fault, and it was going to be amazing. He nodded, rocking back against the man, and Dean hit that spot again and again and again.

When his brother’s hand tightened around his dick, gave it a hard jerk, Sam’s orgasm hit him fast and hard. He cried out as Dean rammed into him, hitting his prostate yet again, his vision going white and his cum covering his stomach and the bed covers. Seconds later, Dean growled his name and shoved deep, and Sam felt his brother’s hot fluids filling him.

It was fucking perfect.

He collapsed to the bed, Dean on top of him, and tried to catch his breath. Dean’s lips pressed against his back, his shoulders, his throat. He felt the man’s teeth press against his shoulder, and he wanted to feel the other’s bite, but Dean was careful to avoid breaking skin. Instead he licked hot, wet paths along his shoulder and throat, up to his ear.

“My Sammy,” the other growled softly, “My mate.”

Sam’s heart slammed into his chest at those two words. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, found Dean’s eyes locked on his face, gaze intense and possessive. His breath caught in his throat for a moment: Dean’s green eyes were always beautiful. And now they were ringed with gold.

Before he could study them more, the man buried his face against Sam’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. When he raised his head again, his eyes were their normal green color.

Dean pulled slowly out of him, movements gentle, and shifted to lay beside him. The man pulled him into his arms, back against his chest. Sam was more than willing, snuggling back against his brother.

He rolled his eyes as Dean licked his ear and whispered, “You’re a mess.”

“Your fault, jerk.”

“You taste good, too. Bitch.”

 


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 23]

Sam raised his eyes to his brother, to find Dean watching him. They were sitting in a local burger joint, having dinner. The pretty waitress had come back to refill their drinks twice already, most of her focus on Dean, but the older Winchester barely acknowledged her other than to say thanks.

It was when she leaned over to fill Sam’s glass again, and her arm brushed Sam’s, that Dean noticed her. Sam’s eyes widened as a sound that sounded a whole lot like a growl started from his brother’s throat. The sound was cut short as Sam kicked Dean beneath the table; Dean focused on the fries remaining on his plate, scowl on his brow.

He couldn’t help it; when the waitress shot Dean one more look, this one slightly bewildered, and walked away, Sam started to laugh.

“What?” Dean practically pouted, which only made him laugh harder.

“You can’t just growl at people, Dean,” he grinned at the man.

“People can’t just touch you, Sam,” Dean countered, that scowl in place and one fist clenching atop the table.

“Hey,” Sam soothed, trying to hide his grin, “She didn’t even mean it. It’s okay.” He didn’t speak it aloud, but Dean’s possessive streak was pretty hot. When his brother continued sulking, he stood and moved around the table, to slide into Dean’s booth with him.

“Stop pouting,” he teased, rubbing his knee against Dean’s beneath the table.

Dean leaned in close: not close enough to touch, but close enough for Sam to feel his warm breath on his ear. “My Sammy.”

“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, giving the other a soft smile, “All yours. Only yours.”

The other returned his smile, his expression pleased, and bumped their knees together.

 

They had finished lunch and were heading for the Impala, when Sam’s cell phone began to ring.

“Dad?”

He shook his head no at Dean’s question, glancing at the screen. “Bobby.” He flipped open the phone and pushed the button to accept the call.

“Hello?”

_‘Sam. How’re you boys doing? How’s Dean?’'_

“We’re good, Bobby. He’s okay so far. Anything new?”

His heart sank as the other man answered,

_‘Not yet, Sam. Ain’t a damn thing I’ve read or researched, or a person I’ve talked to, who seem to know anything about a cure. I looked through those damn journals, couldn’t find anything. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up, though, ‘cause I ain’t. We’ll find something, or we’ll find some way to contain Dean.’_

“Yeah,” Sam breathed a sigh of relief that Bobby hadn’t mentioned putting a bullet in his brother, “Good.”

Dean unlocked and opened the passenger door, and he climbed inside. He watched through the windshield as his brother moved around the front of the car, to the driver’s side. Damn, his brother was beautiful, his gait sure and the sunlight silhouetting him. He shook his head slightly, turning his attention back to Bobby.

“We found a place that might work.” He filled Bobby in on the small jailhouse, and its location. The call finally ended with Bobby’s assurance that they still had a bit of time, and he was still looking.

Sam hung up the phone and glanced at Dean, to find his brother watching him. He gave his brother a wan smile, and proceeded to fill him in on Bobby’s side of the conversation.

 

Two hours later, the brothers were sitting on the hood of the Impala, staring at the small stone jailhouse where they intended to lock Dean during the full moon.

“We can lock you up during the full moon,” Sam’s eyes shifted to his brother, “We’ll lock you up and when it passes, you’ll be you again. Couple nights a month, right?”

“What if I turn early?” Dean met the teen’s hazel gaze, saw the desperation etching Sam’s features. “What if I bite you or someone else? What if we’re on a hunt or something and can’t find a place to lock me up. It’s too risky, Sammy. We might have to – “ Dean exhaled and brushed a hand through his hair, “Sam, it’s better than me killing someone else. Better than me killing or turning you. The sensible plan would be to –“

“No!” Sam shook his head, tears flooding his eyes, “No, damnit!” He shoved himself off the car’s hood and moved away from the car. “Fuck sensible plans!”

“Sammy..”

“No!” He couldn’t stay here, talking about this. He couldn’t think about Dean dying, about putting a bullet in his brother. He couldn’t breathe, the pain was so strong. Swallowing him whole. It felt like a fist, one with claws, was wrapped around his heart, crushing it. He shook his head, barely realized that he had started to run.

He heard Dean’s breathed “Fuck” as he darted toward the surrounding woods, but he didn’t stop.

His brother overtook and caught him easily, arms around his waist.

“Let me go!” Sam struggled, trying to pull free, but Dean held firm. The man pulled him against his chest, holding him tight, and Sam’s heart was breaking all over again.

“Let me go, fuck you, let me go!”

“Sammy. Sammy, don’t. It’s okay, sweetheart.” The man’s face was pressed against his hair, words soft-spoken, hands rubbing his back. Comforting him, when all he wanted to do was collapse to the ground and scream and beg and cry.

Fuck their father for this.

A sob escaped him then, and he threw his arms around the man holding him. “Dean. Dean, I can’t lose you. Dean.” He couldn’t stop sobbing, face buried against the other’s chest. He knew it wasn’t fair to Dean, throwing his anger and his hurt and his despair at him, but nothing about this was fair.

The man held him close, crooned soft words near his ear, body swaying gently, rocking him the way he had done when Sam was small and was upset or hurt or afraid. Heaven knew he was upset and afraid now. His hands clutched Dean’s sides, body shaking with his sobbing, for several minutes.

“I love you, Dean. I love you, I don’t know what to do, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

“Sammy,” Dean pulled back slightly to place a soft kiss against his forehead, “I know, baby. I love you, too. I do, so fucking much. We’ll figure this out. Please don’t cry, Sammy. We’ll figure this out.”

The teen took several deep breaths to calm himself. He could feel his brother trembling in his arms, even as Dean was trying to comfort him.

“We’ll do what you said,” the elder Winchester murmured against his hair, voice shaking, “You can lock me up during the full moons. We’ll keep trying for a cure. Anything you want, Sammy. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” his own voice was almost a whisper, regretful and desperate, “I’m sorry I’m making this harder on you. I just don’t want to lose you, Dean. I can't --” He hiccupped another sob, pressing his face against his brother's chest.

“You’re not,” Dean kissed his forehead again, the top of his head, “It’s okay. We’ll do this your way, however you want to do it.”

They stood in silence for a while longer, holding onto one another. Finally, Dean pulled back to take his hand and lead him toward the Impala. Sam went without resistance, climbing into the passenger side when his brother opened the car’s door. When Dean climbed into the car, he slid across the seat and pressed against his brother’s side. The older man started the car and turned it effortlessly in the clearing, toward the dirt road. He slipped an arm around Sam, holding him close, as he drove them home.

 

The brothers entered their rental house a short while later. Sam was heading for his laptop, which was sitting on the kitchen table, when Dean caught him by the wrist. The man tugged at him, and Sam followed wordlessly as his brother led them into the bedroom.

Neither brother spoke as Dean kicked off his boots, then his jeans, and crawled into the bed. Sam followed suit, crawling in next to his brother. He tugged a blanket up over them, sighing softly as Dean pulled him into his arms.

The two of them laid in silence for a while, Sam’s head resting on Dean’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, with Dean rubbing his back. They didn’t speak, but they communicated with touch and with looks.

Having his brother’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear, along with the man’s gentle rubbing of his back, was lulling Sam toward sleep. He blinked sleepily and raised his eyes to Dean’s face as the man shifted a bit. His brother glanced down at him, shot him a warm smile, and Sam whispered,

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Sammy.”

Sam smiled and, feeling safe in his brother’s arms, let sleep claim him for a bit. 

 


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Days 27 & 29]

[Day 27]

His skin was crawling.

Dean paced in front of the house, eyes on the ground in front of him and a scowl on his face. His skin was crawling and he couldn’t stay still and everything was too  _ much.  _ Too bright, too strong, flooding his senses. The woods around him, the sounds of distant birds, the scent of a rabbit that, judging by sound, was a good half a mile away. It was too much, and he wanted to run or hide or dig that itch out of his skin.

He faltered a step as he heard the front door open and a new scent permeated his senses. It washed over him, calming him immediately, chasing that itching and gnawing within him that was something, some  _ thing _ , eager to push its way to the surface of his being.

_ Sam. _

Dean stopped and turned, eyes falling on his brother as Sam stepped out onto the porch.

The thought that he could hurt Sam if he turned at the full moon struck him again, and a stab of fear raced through him. He was about to insist, yet again, that his brother put a bullet in him if and when he turned. The look on Sam’s face as the teen approached him – love and determination – had him holding his tongue.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam shot him a wry smile as he reached him, “and it’s still a big, fat no.”

“Sam..” Dean swallowed hard as he met his brother’s hazel gaze, “What if I hurt you? What if I kill you? Hell, what if I turn you into whatever I’m going to become?”

“Then we’ll be wolves together,” the other rested a hand on his arm, stepped closer, “I’m not going to shoot you, Dean. Would you shoot me, if I had been bitten and changed?”

He couldn’t even bear the thought, and his answer was immediate, “No.”

“Even if dad ordered you to do it?”

The thought of anyone harming his little brother sent his heart into double-time and a spike of rage and protectiveness through him. His voice was a growl as he answered,

“He can fuck himself. Never.”

“Exactly how I feel, Dean,” Sam told him softly, “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“How can – how do you know that?” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “It’s what werewolves do, Sam.”

“You said it yourself,” Sam leaned in closer to put his lips to Dean’s ear, “We’re mates.”

A sound of need, far beyond physical, escaped Dean’s throat, and he hauled Sam into his arms to hug him close.

“Sammy,” he nuzzled the other’s hair, inhaling the scent of him, “Mine.”

 

 

 

 

[Day 29]

 

Dean watched as his little brother piled blankets onto the old cot of the jailhouse, positioning them so that they covered and padded it. A smile touched his lips as the younger teen began pulling bottles of water from his backpack and placing them on the floor beside the cot.

If he had to admit it, it tugged his heartstrings to see Sam looking out for him in this way. Hell, it did more than tug at them: it filled him with a warmth that few others could create. He thought on it for a moment, and realized that only Sam had ever been able to make him feel completely  _ loved _ , as he did while watching his brother make efforts toward his comfort. Even their father had never given him that, nor made him feel things like  _ safe  _ and  _ home, _ like Sam was able to do.

He blinked back the sudden wetness in his eyes. He shook his head a bit; maybe werewolves were more emotional. He almost laughed aloud at that, but he wasn't certain that it would have been a laugh of amusement. Dean cleared his throat, then moved forward to join his brother as Sam laid a handful of old comics and what appeared to be a freezer bag full of snacks on the blanket-covered cot.

“In case you get bored,” Sam’s hazel gaze flicked to him, and the other shot him a sheepish smile.

“You plan for everything,” Dean winked at the other, “Smartest person I know, my Sammy.”

Sam flushed in pleasure, a shy smile gracing his features, and stepped to Dean to slip his arms around his waist. He was more than happy to hug him back, hauling him close to breathe in his delicious scent.

After several moments, Dean reluctantly released his hold on his brother. They moved out of the small structure and toward the Impala as Dean spoke, “I’m not sure you should stay, Sam.”

“I’m staying,” the look his brother shot him, the tone of his voice, left zero room for arguments.

Dean chuckled – he hadn’t really wanted to be alone anyway, not tonight at least. The full moon wasn’t until tomorrow night, but they planned to lock him in the jailhouse, to be on the safe side.

“Fine,” he relented, “but you’re going to stay out here, and I’m going to be locked inside.”

Sam nodded in agreement; they could chat through the barred windows or jailhouse doors.

Dean pulled one of the lengths of chain from Baby’s trunk, and Sam grabbed the other one. They each took one of the heavy padlocks, and headed back to the stone structure. Dean hung his length over the bars and locking latch of the iron door, and Sam laid his on the ground nearby. They hadn’t decided yet if both chains were needed, but precaution wouldn’t do any harm. Dean hung his open lock over one of the horizontal bars that ran across the center of the door, before turning to his brother.

Sam was watching him, and Dean’s pulse raced. His little brother was beautiful. He couldn’t say it enough, couldn’t seem to get enough of him. He barely noticed the low _purr_ that escaped his throat as he moved into the teen’s space; a moment later, he had him crowded back against the stonewall of the jailhouse. He buried his nose against the other’s neck and inhaled deeply, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him.

He placed his hands on the others hips; a moment later he was lifting him, pressing his back against the wall as Sam’s legs wrapped around his hips. The other teen wriggled in his hold to press against him, and Dean hummed in pleasure and thrust up against his perfect ass.

Sam moaned softly, arched down against him again, before leaning in and nipping at his throat. “Want you, Dean,” the other breathed against his ear, “Right here, right now.”

Who was Dean to argue with that demand?

 

 

"Bobby's on his way, but it will take him a while to get here." Sam sent back a quick text - _'be careful' -_ and pocketed his phone. They were sitting on the Impala’s trunk as sunset approached, enjoying the shade offered by the trees around them. Sam glanced over as his brother took his hand, linked their fingers together. Dean was staring down at their linked hands, his expression worried.

“Dean?”

The young man raised his green gaze to him and smiled a bit. “Just thinking.” Sam allowed himself to be pulled against his brother’s side, Dean’s arm around him.

“Wondering what you’re going to think,” his brother continued, eyes on the shadows cast by remaining sunlight filtering through the trees, “when I change.” No ‘if’, but ‘when’. His brother was certain he was going to shift forms beneath the full moon.

“I’ll probably be a little freaked,” he admitted, dropping his head on Dean’s shoulder, “It’s not every day you see someone change into a wolf.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Dean’s voice was quiet, regretful, “Sammy..”

“Nope.”

The man chuckled and tightened his hold on him, hugging him close. After long minutes of compatible silence, the older Winchester spoke again,

“Guess we should go ahead and lock me up. Just in case.”

When Dean was inside the jailhouse, he called over his shoulder, “If this all goes south, you get in Baby and get the hell out of here. Got it?”

Sam nodded, fingers tightening on the iron rails of the cell door.

“I mean it, Sam.”

“I know,” he met his brother’s gaze, “I will, I promise. If anything goes wrong, I’ll go.” Dean nodded and reached for the iron door to pull it closed, but paused as Sam grabbed his wrist.

“Dean. Even if you change, you’re not a monster. You’ll  _ never _ be a monster.”

His brother’s throat moved as he swallowed, before he nodded. He pulled the iron door shut and dropped the latch in place, then watched as Sam looped the chains around the bars, chaining the door shut. The lock went on then, and Sam pocketed the key once it was locked.

 

When it was done, the brothers stared at one another through the bars for a minute, before Sam moved to grab a blanket out of the backseat of the Impala, which was parked only twenty foot from the jailhouse. He moved to seat himself on the trunk, which was closest to the cell’s door, and settled back to wait out the night.

“Now you’re my captive audience,” he shot his brother a grin, “and I can regal you with stories of my youth.”

Dean sniggered and shook his head, “It’s going to be a long night.”

The brothers spent the next hours talking and staring up at the stars through the canopy of trees. The almost-full moon made its appearance finally, and both brothers waited in silence, holding their breaths. Dean’s sigh of relief carried across to Sam as both realized that nothing was happening. 

 

It was, overall, an uneventful night.

 


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 30]

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the old pickup truck as it rolled down the drive, coasting to a halt finally in front of the small house. The engine was cut off, and Bobby Singer climbed out of the vehicle. He paused a moment to stretch his aching back as he surveyed the house and woods around it. He had been on the road for the better part of three days - almost 25 hours - stopping at night for a scant few hours of sleep in motel rooms. He was glad to be out of his truck for a spell.

The man crossed the drive and stepped up onto the porch to knock at the front door. He waited for a couple of minutes before trying the knob. It was locked, but didn’t take long to open with the lockpick set from his pocket. He pocketed the tools and entered the house, automatically stepping over the salt line laid down in front of the door.

“Sam? Dean?”

The man paused for a moment, listening for a response. When he received none, he pulled his gun from his jacket pocket and hoisted it, before making his way through the house.

A quick but thorough walk-through of the small house found it empty, so Bobby made his way back to the kitchen. His shoved his gun, safety on, in his jacket pocket as his eyes fell on a piece of paper on the kitchen table. He moved closer and saw his name written on it.

Picking it up, he opened it and found a short note from Sam, along with a hand-drawn map at the bottom of the page.

 

_Bobby,_

_I would have left this on the front door but didn’t want to leave it in case anyone else stopped by, and I know you can get in the house. If you show up, we’re already at the place where we’re waiting out the moon. I drew a map, hope you can read it. If you need better directions, give me a call._

_There are leftovers in the fridge and the shower is down the hall. Help yourself to whatever you need._

_Sam & Dean _

 

Bobby crossed to the fridge and opened it, to find several covered bowls. He glanced around and spotted a microwave on the counter. He hadn’t eaten since this morning; a quick bite, and then he would go find the boys.

 

Sam was sitting against the iron gate of the jailhouse, book open on his lap. Dean was sitting on the other side of the gate, one hand reaching through the bars to brush through Sam’s hair as his little brother read aloud to him. He was only half-focused on Sam’s rendition of “To Kill A Mockingbird”; most of his attention was on the teen himself, his scent and the feel of his silky hair.

Their heads went up as they heard a vehicle approaching, and both rose to their feet. Sam pulled the gun from the waist of his jeans as he rose, holding it loosely at his side. Relaxed but prepared.

Both boys relaxed as a pickup truck rolled down the dirt tracks, into sight, and they spotted Bobby Singer behind the wheel. Sam put the gun away and Bobby parked the truck a short distance from Baby and climbed out.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean raised a hand through the gate’s bars in a wave.

“Boys,” Bobby crossed the clearing toward them, eyes flicking from them to the locked gate, “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, hit an accident down in New York that had all lanes blocked and slowed me up by a couple of hours. How you doin’, Dean?”

“I’m good, Bobby,” Dean shrugged a shoulder as he amended with a wry smile, “Well, I’m okay, at least. Considerin’. Thanks for coming, man.”

“Least I could do,” Bobby nodded to the older teen, “Sam? You alright?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah.” Sam fiddled with the book in his hand, and shook his head, “I’m okay, Bobby. Thanks for coming all this way. It - it means a lot.”

The older man clapped the boy lightly on the shoulder, and Sam shot him a small yet genuine smile.

“No word from your dad?”

The youngest Winchester scowled and shook his head no; he relaxed as he felt Dean’s fingers brush against his neck.

“Mind if I talk to Bobby alone for a minute, Sam?”

Sam’s hazel gaze shifted to his brother and he raised a brow. “I do if you’re going to tell him to shoot you if you change,” the teen shot back. His eyes shifted to Bobby, “We’re _not_ doing that. It’s not even an option.”

Dean chuckled and tugged his hair lightly, “I guess you know me too well, Sammy.” He leaned back against the gate, smiling a bit as Dean wrapped an arm around his chest. No easy task with iron bars between them, but his brother managed.

Bobby studied the two for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head, “What is our game plan, then?”

“Not shooting Dean,” Sam answered, “He can stay in there until the moon passes. We’ll lock him up every full moon until we find a cure, but we’re not - “ The boy swallowed, raised his hand to lock his fingers with Dean’s, “I can’t --”

“It’s alright, Sam,” Bobby moved closer to squeeze his arm lightly, “We’ll figure it out. If Dean turns.. Well, we’ll figure it out.” His eyes shifted from younger brother to older, and he blinked and rubbed at suspiciously wet eyes. He cleared his throat and informed, “Got some of those leftovers in the truck, warmed ‘em up at the house, if you boys are hungry.”

 

Dean watched as his brother pulled the key to the padlock from his pocket and moved toward the locks on the gate. “Maybe I should stay in here,” his voice was soft, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. His eyes met Sam’s, and the younger teen frowned and shook his head.

“You can come out and eat with us, Dean. We have hours before sunset.”

“Still,” Dean reached through the gate, brushed his fingers against Sam’s arm, “I can eat in here.” He wanted more than anything to be out of this small stone room with Sam, to be close to his brother. It was better, though, if he played it safe and stayed inside. Just in case.

The thought had no more than run through his head when he heard the heavy lock being unlocked. “Sam..”

“Out,” Sam undid the chain and opened the iron gate, “You can go back in after you eat. I want - “ the younger Winchester bit his bottom lip and shot Dean a sheepish glance, “I want to be close to you, just for a little while.”

Dean nodded and stepped out of the jailhouse; he immediately engulfed Sam in a hug, burying his face against the other’s neck and inhaling the scent of him. A low hum escaped his throat as Sam hugged him tightly - Sam smelled like heaven - and he murmured, “My Sammy.”

 

Sam and Dean joined Bobby near Bobby’s truck, where he had spread out a blanket and was setting out sandwich makings and dishes of leftovers. The older man offered them both a beer - “Circumstances permit it, I think” he told Sam - and sat down himself.

Conversation while they ate was light, more pleasant than pressing issue worrying the three of them. Bobby had them laughing with his tale of his last hunt, during which he and Rufus Turner had fallen into a pit of mud, only to stumble and roll down a steep hill minutes later.

“Wasn’t even damn fairies causing all the trouble,” Bobby waved his beer bottle as he spoke, “Just a coupla damn teenagers with these little remote-control airplanes that had blinking lights on ‘em.”

Dean chuckled at Bobby’s story, leaning against Sam’s side. His eyes shifted to his brother as Sam laughed, and a pang of regret and sudden uneasiness hit him right in the chest. He didn’t want to leave his brother. He didn’t want to make Sam or Bobby shoot him if he grew claws and fangs beneath the full moon. He didn’t want to turn into a monster and try to hurt the person who was his very world. He frowned, eyes dropping to the blanket, and clenched his fists in his lap.

 He raised his eyes again as he heard Sam’s voice, soft and soothing, “Dean.”

Their gazes locked, and his brother leaned in close, rested their foreheads together. Ignoring that Bobby was sitting nearby, watching them, Sam whispered, “I love you, Dean. We’ll figure this out.”

He nodded, eyes closing as he breathed in Sam’s calming scent. _Home. Mate._ The words echoed in his head, and he opened his eyes to look at his brother again.

“I love you, Sammy.”

 

The brothers were sitting on the tailgate of Bobby’s truck a short while later, talking to the man.

“Still no idea who might have bit you?” Bobby took a pull from the beer bottle he held in his left hand, “None of the townsfolk made it obvious they were moonlighting as somethin’ else during full moons?”

“Still think it’s that asshole from the library who hit on Sam,” Dean grumbled with a scowl.

Sam laughed softly and shook his head, “Maybe, but I think you’re just looking for an excuse to shoot him.”

“Damn straight about that.”

Sam watched, brow furrowing a bit, as his brother shifted where he sat, tugging at his t-shirt. Neither he nor Bobby had missed Dean’s restless fidgeting, which had started half an hour ago.

“You okay, Dean?”

Dean’s gaze flicked to Bobby at the man’s question, and he nodded once. It was followed immediately by a heavy sigh as he admitted, “My skin’s crawling. Like it’s --” he paused, “--I dunno. Too tight. I wanna run, you know? Just.. start running and do it all night.”

Sam laid a hand on his brother’s arm - Dean relaxed visibly at his touch - before clasping the young man’s hand in his own. He locked gazes with Dean, and the other shot him a brief, tight smile.

“You know I’m gonna change, right?”

Sam swallowed hard and nodded yes. The signs were pretty hard to ignore at this point; he could deny it all he wanted but they had both known from the moment his brother’s wounds had healed and his senses had heightened. He had known from the moment Sam had spotted those gold rings edging Dean’s green eyes.

“You know it’s not gonna matter to me, right?” he countered, tightening his hold on his brother’s hand, “You’re still you, no matter what form you’re in.”

Dean leaned in to rest his forehead against Sam’s, After a long moment, he sighed and pulled back. Sam met his gaze again, and his brother winked at him, then slid off the tailgate.

“I think you better go ahead and lock me in,” the man motioned with his head toward the jailhouse, “Just in case.”

Sam nodded and followed him to the small stone building.

Dean was about to step inside, when he turned to face Sam again.

“You have the gun? And the silver bullets?”

“Dean..”

Dean shook his head, “Just - just in case this goes south. I know Bobby has his but.. Just - just keep them on you, okay? Just in case. Don’t let me hurt you or Bobby, Sam.”

The younger teen swallowed hard but nodded his agreement. Sam flushed slightly, a smile touching his mouth, as Dean ignored Bobby’s eyes on them and took his hand; he raised it to his lips and brushed his lips across the back of it. He grinned and stepped back, then turned to enter the jailhouse. 

“You’re so weird,” Sam couldn’t stop his grin, even as he shot a glance at Bobby and found the older man smirking at them.

“That’s what you get when your brother is a werewolf, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, stepping inside and pulling the iron gate shut, “You get weird.”

When the chains were in place and the padlock was locked in place, Sam raised his head again and found Dean watching him.

“Be safe, Sammy,” fingers brushed his own through the iron bars, “You and Bobby get the hell out of here if -”

“-if anything happens,” Sam nodded, “I know. We will.”

 

Sam was sitting on the Impala’s trunk a short while later, talking to Dean and Bobby, when he saw his brother momentarily freeze, eyes flicking to the dirt road that allowed vehicle access to the jailhouse. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Bobby, then started,

“Dean -?”

“Truck,” his brother muttered, head tilted as if listening, “Coming up the road.”

Sam half-turned to follow his brother’s gaze, and Bobby pushed away from his perch against the Impala. He moved off the car, to stand next to it and Bobby as, a minute later, they heard the sound of an engine. A minute after that, a black pickup truck drove into view.

Sam scowled as he eyed the truck, “Fucking hell.”


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Day 30 - pt 2]

Sam shot a quick glance at Dean, to find his brother staring at the black truck, a frown etching his features. His own gaze returned to the truck as the engine was cut off and the driver opened the door. John Winchester climbed out of the truck, shutting the door behind him; Sam didn’t miss the gun he was shoving in the waistband of his jeans.

The youngest Winchester’s scowl deepened and he stepped back, closer to the jailhouse and Dean. He positioned himself in front of the iron gate, arms crossed over his chest, as their father crossed the clearing toward them.

“John,” Bobby greeted the man as he approached.

“Bobby,” John nodded to him in greeting, then shifted his eyes to the brothers, “Boys.” He looked past Sam, to study Dean, then glanced back at Sam, “Found your map.”

“Yeah,” Sam didn’t move from his position, “I left that for _Bobby_. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for weeks.”

“I got a little sidetracked.”

The response made Sam want to put a fist in his throat, and he clenched his teeth in anger, every muscle in his body tense with it. He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to calm himself, before asking, “Did you at least find any information that could help Dean?”

“Like I said,” John had the good sense to look abashed, “I got a little sidetracked.”

Sam felt something cold and angry rush through him, and he dropped his arms, fists clenched at his sides. “Then why the hell are you here?”

“That’s enough,” the man shot him a look of warning. Sam started to pop off an angry retort, when Dean spoke for the first time since their father had pulled into the clearing,

“Don’t you dare. _He’s_ been right by my side through every moment of this, so don’t you dare. Now, he asked you a question, _John_.”

John stared at the brothers for a moment, anger and shame and resignation flicking across his features. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “I’m here to do what needs to be done if --”

“No,” Sam cut him off before he could finish the statement, his voice hard, “That’s not going to happen. See, we made a decision while you were out getting sidetracked by something other than your son, and that decision is that Dean will not be shot. By _anyone_.”

John scowled and started, “Now listen here, Sam..”

“No, you listen, _dad_. He’ll stay locked up until after the full moon, and he’ll be locked up during every full moon, until we find a way to fix what _you_ caused! If you think you’re going to waltz in at the last minute and put a bullet in my brother, you’re out of your fucking mind!”

John scowled again and stepped toward him - Sam heard a low growl rumble from his brother’s throat at the man’s movement - but halted as Bobby stepped between them. John didn't missed the man’s hand shifting to rest on the butt of the gun shoved in his belt.

“The boys made their decision, John,” the older man stated matter-of-factly, “and at this point, it’s their call to make. Now you don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is.”

“You can’t agree with this.. this nonsense, Bobby! Dean is going to turn into a monster! He’s going to kill someone!”

“Maybe he will change,” Bobby agreed, standing his ground, “but you’re the damn fool who used your own son as bait, and _what the hell were you thinkin’, doing that?_ So you don’t have a say anymore. Now you can honor their decision and stay here with the me and my boys -” a muscle twitched in John’s cheek at that, but Bobby continued, “or you can get the hell back in your truck and go back to wherever the hell you just came from.”

 

Three pairs of eyes watched as John glanced at each of them, scowl on his face; finally, he turned and went back to his truck. He shot them another glance, then leaned against the grill, arms crossed over his chest.

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam shot the man a brief smile, and Bobby nodded and clapped him lightly on the back.

“Ain't nobody messin’ with my boys while there's breath in me, son.”

The older man huffed a chuckle as San threw his arms around him in a quick, tight hug.

 

An hour after sunset, Sam sat on the trunk of the Impala, staring at the jailhouse. The small structure was illuminated by the headlights of Bobby’s truck. Inside, his brother was pacing the small enclosure. Sam shifted forward a bit - Dean’s eyes flicked to him at the movement - and he spoke softly, “I’m right here, Dean. Not going anyplace.”

Dean nodded as he paced, paused at the iron gate to lock eyes with Sam. A quick, tight smile, and the pacing resumed.

 

The minutes ticked by, and Sam talked quietly to his brother as the young man paced his cell. Random talk, mostly, but it seemed to ease a bit of the tension radiating from the other’s restless form. He was rambling about a book he had read last month when he saw his brother _twitch_ , and then stop pacing.

“Dean?” Sam sat up, eyes riveted to his brother, whose back was to him now. He heard movement nearby as Bobby moved closer, but his focus was on Dean. He cast a quick glance at Bobby as the older man moved to stand next to him and the car; their gazes shifted back to Dean as they heard a low growl from the stone jailhouse.

Sam’s heart plummeted, even as his adrenaline spiked, when his brother turned to face them, teeth bared. They watched, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, as fangs, sharp and wicked, formed in his mouth, and claws sprouted from his fingertips. It happened fast, mere seconds; they barely had a chance to blink. Both jerked, startled, as Dean lurched forward suddenly and grasped the iron bars, clawed hands wrapping tightly around them. His typically green eyes, now a shade of green-gold, were locked on them, and a low growl rumbled from his chest as he snarled at them.

Sam slid off the trunk of the car and took a single step forward. “Dean.” He spoke his brother’s name softly, hands at his side and well away from the gun resting at the small of his back. The young man in the cage ceased growling at the sound of his voice, eyes locked on him and head tilted slightly. He saw Dean scent the air, watched as the man’s grip on the cell’s bars loosened a fraction.

“Move back, Sam!”

Dean snarled again at the sound of John's voice, and Sam half-turned to glance at their father. He watched in alarm is the man approached the cage, arm raised and gun in hand… and pointed right at his brother.

“No!” Sam leapt between John’s line of fire and the jailhouse, blocking the man’s shot. “No!”

“Goddamnit, Sam!” John took another step, “Get out of the way!”

“John!” Bobby moved swiftly to Sam’s side, “Put the damn gun down before you actually shoot someone, you damn idjit!”

 

Sam could hear Dean growling behind him and rattling the iron gate’s bars. He heard the metallic clink of the chains that was holding the gate in place; so far they seemed to be holding. Above all of that, he heard John speak words that chilled him right to his bones,

“Look at him, Bobby! Look what he’s become! We have to put him down!”

“Put him down?” rage, red hot and violent, coursed through Sam at the man’s declaration, “ _Put him down_?! Like he’s a rabid animal? He’s still Dean!”

“Sam, he’s a werewolf!” John tried to reason, lowering the gun only a fraction. 

_“He’s my brother!”_

He shot his father a disgusted look and turned his back to him to move closer to Dean’s cell. His brother was growling, his green-gold eyes locked on John, as he reached through the bars and swiped through the air with claws that looked lethal. He ignored his father’s call of “Sam!”, and shot Bobby a quick glance of acknowledge as the older hunter also spoke his name, this one a word of caution.

He halted a short distance from the cell’s gate, but close enough to study him. The man - the wolf - had ceased growling at his approach and was watching him, head tilted again. He saw Dean scent the air again, watched as the other took a deep breath.

“Damnit Sam!”

“Shut up, John,” Sam muttered, shifting so he was blocking any shot John might have, eyes locked on his brother.

His heart nearly stopped for a second, before slamming into his ribs, as he heard a soft, growled word escape his brother’s lips,

“Mate.”

“Dean,” Sam could have sobbed with relief - his brother recognized him, and that was something, wasn’t it?

 

“Sam!” John’s voice was closer, agitation lacing it. Dean growled low, a warning, eyes flicking past Sam to the man edging closer. He felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly and he jerked away, turning to face John.

“Get the hell out of my way, Samuel. I’m going to do what needs to be done.”

The youngest Winchester met the hard gaze of the oldest, and shifted where he stood, steadying his stance. His own gaze was steel as he shot back, “Get the fuck away from me and my brother.”

“You stupid -”

John’s voice trailed off as Sam jerked his own gun from its resting place against his back and raised it, pointing it at John’s head. His hand was steady, aim sure, when he spoke,

“Stay the fuck away from me and my brother. Get back in your truck, go the hell wherever it is you go. Hunt, kill shit, I don’t care, just do it away from us. You think Dean is a monster? I only see one monster here, and it’s not him.”

John was silent, assessing him, but Sam didn’t waver.

“You don’t get to come here and decide you’re going to shoot my brother. He’s mine, do you understand that? _Mine._ You don’t get a say in what happens to us anymore. You lost that right when you used Dean as bait. Did you really think, even for a moment, that I would shoot him? If I shoot anyone tonight, it won’t be him.”

“Sam,” John frowned, shook his head, “You think I _want_ to do this? I don't! He's my son! You have no idea what --”

“No,” Sam interrupted angrily, “ _You_ have no idea. You have _no idea_ what Dean and I will do to protect each other. Don’t make me show you, John.”

John blinked at the statement, took a step back. He stared at his youngest for a long moment, assessing him - Sam meant every word, it was etched in every inch of him. He glanced at Bobby, but the man remained unmoving, watching them, one hand resting on the butt of his own gun. His eyes shifted back to Sam as the teen sighed suddenly, gun still aimed at him and hand still steady.

“Please, dad,” Sam’s tone was calm now, almost a request. _Almost_ a request, but actually a warning, “Just go. Go hunt your monsters and your ghosts, and leave me and Dean alone. We’ll take care of each other, just like we always have. This isn’t any different. Call us if you need help on a hunt, but otherwise leave us alone.”

He watched as John dropped his gaze, glanced at the gun in his own hand. The man shook his head slightly, muttered something incomprehensible, before putting the gun away. He barely met Sam’s gaze as he muttered,

“You’re sure about this, Sam?”

“Yes.”

As certain as he was of breathing.

 

John glanced at Bobby and he made a last appeal, “You agree with this, Bobby?” He waved a hand toward Sam, and the gun the boy had trained on him still. The older man shrugged a shoulder before answering,

“I agree it’s not your call to make anymore. Don't think it ever was. They’ll be fine. They always are.”

The man nodded, then raised his eyes to glance at Dean, who was growling at him through the gate’s bars. Regret and shame crossed his features again, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“For what it’s worth, Dean, I’m sorry.”

The only response was a snarl.

Another shake of his head, then John glanced at Sam again. “Take care of yourselves.”

 

Sam nodded but didn’t lower the gun, even when John turned to walk toward his truck. Only when the man was in his truck and turning it to drive out of the clearing did he lower it. He didn’t put it away until the man’s truck was out of earshot.

Sam sighed and rubbed his hand over his face - that could have gone so much worse - before turning to face Dean again. A smile touched his mouth as the young man behind the bars inhaled deeply again, scenting the air, and spoke, voice low, “Mate. Sammy.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick notes:  
> I considered writing a 'Dean/wolf who bit him' battle royale in this chapter. My brain/muses were all 'lol no' about it.  
> I considered, also, writing a different ending with John. I actually tried to write two other alt endings. Again, brain/muses were all 'lol no'. This is the only one that fit, for me. So here we are.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has left lovely comments & kudos, & followed this through to the end. I appreciate & adore you all. One more chapter (an epilogue of sorts) to go!


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Epilogue]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last (very short) chapter. Contemplated whether to add it, but said 'what the hell', & here it is. The boys deserve a nice, happy ending, I think.
> 
> As always, thank you guys for the comments/kudos/love, and for hanging in 'til the end. I appreciate it like mad; you're all lovely creatures.

**Six months later**

 

How was it that the sunlight seemed to halo his brother every time he was in it? Sam watched the man exit the Fryeburg post office, sunlight practically wrapping itself around him. Sam didn’t blame it, he tried to wrap himself around Dean every chance he got. He blinked and laughed softly at himself, and he did not just sigh dreamily, damnit. His eyes fell to the large, manilla envelope his brother was carrying as Dean reached him.

“Welp,” Dean tossed the envelope onto the hood of the Impala, “It’s official. The house is ours, free and clear,” Dean leaned against the Impala, his shoulder pressing against his brother’s.

“What? How --?” Sam’s brows shot up as he snatched up the envelope and opened it. He pulled a sheaf of papers from it. Attached to the papers was a brief note that read ‘Thanks for what you did. This is the least I could do, for saving my daughter.’

Included was the deed to the small house, and a receipt stamped “paid in full”.

The two stared at one another for a moment before both broke into full grins. Sam went willingly as Dean pulled him in for a tight hug; he chuckled as he brother breathed in his scent.

 

They had been making payments on the house they had been in since spring, when Dean had been bitten by the werewolf, after the landlord had agreed to a lease-to-own deal. Last month, they had been passing that very man’s house, just inside town, when he had come running out into the street in a panic. Dean had stopped the car as he shouted about something that was attacking them, something they couldn’t see. His daughter was locked in her bedroom with whatever it was, and the man hadn’t been able to get the door open to help her.

The Winchesters had pulled out of the road and gathered supplies from the trunk in under two minutes, then run into the house to investigate. Sure enough, it had been a vengeful spirit, attached to an ugly lamp purchased the previous week at a yard sale two towns over.

The brothers had dispatched of it quickly and rescued the teenager from her bedroom. She had suffered a concussion and a broken wrist (and quite possible some future therapy sessions) from the ghost, but otherwise, she was relatively fine. Her father had been so grateful, he had promised to make it up to them.

 

“Wow, I thought he meant he would buy us a meal if he saw us in town, or something,” Sam stared at the deed again, “This is -- wow.”

“I know,” Dean slipped an arm around his little brother and tugged him against his side, “Definitely wow.”

The two had been hunting three weeks out of the month, coming back to the house that was now theirs during the week of the full moon. Dean had been spending full-moon-nights locked in the stone jailhouse near their house, then they spent several days home, resting, before going out to hunt again. Admittedly, Dean’s preternatural abilities helped them with their hunting: he was faster, stronger, could hear and smell things before those things managed to get the jump on them. 

On top of that, there hadn’t been any more deaths around Fryeburg since their arrival: either the werewolf whom had bitten Dean had moved on, or their father had actually gotten in a lucky shot that night.

All in all, they were making it work.

Now the house was actually <i> _ theirs</i> _ , so they had a place to come back to after their hunts, a place to stay when they needed to rest or recuperate. A place for when they decided they were done with hunting. A home.

 

Sam gathered the papers and slid them back in their envelope as Dean nodded toward the Impala. “Get in, we’ll go get lunch to celebrate.”

“All you do is eat, Dean.”

The younger Winchester flushed and ducked his head, grinning, as Dean waggled his brows and promised, “Wait til later, I’ll eat you.”

Sam moved around the car to get in. He was opening the door when he froze. “Uh.. Dean..”

Dean, seated now in the driver’s seat, glanced at him through the windshield. The man followed his gaze, and his eyes widened slightly. He climbed back out of the car, and met his brother just in front of it.

 

Standing in the middle of the parking lot a short distance from them was a man in a long, brown trench coat. The parking lot which had been completely empty, except for two cars parked at the far end, seconds before. Where the hell had he come from?

He glanced at Dean as the man muttered that very question, then looked back to the stranger in front of them.

The brothers exchanged wary glances as the man spoke, his voice gravel-rough and deep,

“Sam and Dean Winchester. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord, and I think I can help you, Dean..”

 

 

[fin]

 


End file.
